


Safe With Me

by Lucan (B7grrl)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B7grrl/pseuds/Lucan
Summary: Vila rejects the only advance Avon makes on the Liberator, but when circumstances put them together in a potentially explosive situation, things are rather different.





	Safe With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine "Liberated".

"Look, Vila, we need those weapons crystals."

"No."

"Think about it."

"I can think till I'm blue in the face. It'd still be no."

"I suggest you think again."

"Not much point, is there? I'm not going to change my mind."

"Really?" Tarrant shoved Vila hard in the chest so that he lost his balance and fell back against the teleport room wall. "Listen, you little runt. You're useless. All you are is a thief, and since I've been here we haven't needed one. Up till now."

Vila pushed himself upright, rubbing his chest resentfully. "Look, Federation bases don't agree with me. I'm allergic to them."

"You either do this, Vila, or you're off the ship."

"Eh? You can't dump me. I was with Blake—"

"Oh, but I can. Who'd stop me? Who'd even want to?" Tarrant smiled. "Name one."

The defiance went out of Vila's face and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "All right. I'll get my equipment." He left, passing Cally and Avon in the corridor.

"What's the matter with Vila?" Cally asked as she came in.

"He needed a bit of convincing."

"I'm not surprised," Avon said. "I find it extremely suspicious that your friend stipulated that he go there alone."

"My contact's nervous. He's putting his life on the line."

"As is Vila."

"We need those crystals. And you made us pull out of that other deal I set up."

"That," Avon said, "was far too dangerous. You knew nothing about those so-called simple unaggressive people and you gave them all the advantages. Are you sure you can trust this man?"

"Of course. I said he's a friend."

Avon remembered his 'friend' Tynus. His eyes narrowed. "You'd better be right."

"Why are you suddenly so concerned about Vila?"

Vila, returning with his toolkit, hesitated in the corridor and stopped to listen.

"He's useful. He's an annoying fool, but he's a talented thief. In future, you leave him alone. He doesn't trust you."

"And he trusts you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, come on. You have nothing but contempt for him."

"That's right, but he's used to me."

"Look, Avon," Tarrant said, "the man's a spare part. You said so yourself."

Vila didn't wait to hear more. To let them know that he had heard them would be even more humiliating, so he turned and went back to his cabin.

He sat on his bed, playing miserably with the catch on his toolkit.

He'd always thought Avon liked him. He must have imagined that look of warm amusement in Avon's eyes after one of their insult exchanges, and the concern on Avon's face above his when he woke up after Chenga and that time they'd been pulled into that so-called black hole. And Cally, she hadn't said one word in his defence. She didn't have any time for him either these days. Tarrant had hit the nail on the head. Vila was a spare part now they were just trailing aimlessly around the galaxy with nothing for him to unlock so he could prove he was worth something. Backup for everything but Cally's medical duties—well, it wasn't his fault if blood made him faint—and no longer needed on weapons now Dayna was here. Blake had appreciated him, but even Blake, now Vila thought of it, had only ever complimented him on his skills at picking locks. Well, they had one for him now, but he doubted if it would make much difference to anyone, not if there was no-one to see him in action, doing the only thing he was ever valued for.

Sod them. Blake had never made him go alone.

Vila sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. It wouldn't do for them to know they'd hurt him. Same old story that'd be—they'd be in for the kill if they knew, like wild animals who smelled blood.

"Vila." Avon's voice came over the intercom, "Out here now."

Vila stood up and trudged dispiritedly back to the teleport room, keeping his head down. He went to the bay and stood waiting, staring at the floor.

Avon frowned at him from behind the controls. "No excuses? No weak chest or incipient plague?"

"Just do it," Vila said dully.

"Vila, we'll be tracking you via your bracelet. At the first sign of trouble, call for teleport." When Vila did not answer, Avon asked sharply, "All right?"

Vila gave him a brief resentful glare before dropping his eyes again. "Has to be, doesn't it? What choice do I have?"

Avon raised an eyebrow and moved the controls.

 

Vila found himself in a corridor, painted in the usual Federation grey.

"You Vila?" A sandy-haired freckle-faced young man in a Space Fleet junior officers' uniform stood nervously beside him, hands in his pockets.

Vila gave him a sour look. "Restal to you. You Lieutenant Ethim, Tarrant's friend?"

"That's right."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm all out of sympathy. Where's the door then?"

"That one there." Ethim nodded towards it.

Vila looked at it. The door was labelled 'Maximum Security Store' and the lock was a physio-psycho one. "Don't they trust you then? Afraid all you loyal little troopers will flog the stuff off down the local pub?"

"Just get on with it." Ethim hopped from one foot to the other.

Vila sighed, and got out his tools. Dispensing with his usual patter, he opened the panel, inserted a probe, pressed the button, waited while he was scanned with a red imaging laser, then rerouted the computer feedback. The green light came on, and he opened the door.

Ethim's pale eyes widened. "That was quick."

"I'm the best in the business. Didn't Tarrant tell you?" Vila asked sarcastically.

"Um, no, he said...well, doesn't matter."

No, Vila thought, it doesn't. Just like me. He picked up his kit and went in, pausing to close the door behind Ethim. "All right. Where are these crystals then?"

Ethim shrugged. "Search me. First time I've been in here."

Vila rolled his eyes and started reading the labels on the shelves.

 

Avon was worried. "Did Vila seem all right to you?"

"No." Cally looked thoughtful. "He was frightened, but that is to be expected. But he was also, well, hopeless." She frowned. "Avon? I am not sure he's safe down there."

"What do you mean?"

"He might find it easier to give up or get himself killed than to go on."

Avon stared at her, hoping his face was expressionless, then turned to Tarrant. "What did you do to him?" he asked quietly.

Tarrant shrugged. "Not much. Just scared him a little."

"Do that again, and I'll scare you a lot." Avon stood up and clipped on a bracelet. "You'd be easy to replace. Vila isn't." He strode to the teleport bay. "Put me down at his current location."

"That wasn't the deal," Tarrant said.

"It is now. Do it, Cally."

 

Avon materialised in the maximum security room beside Vila, who was filling a pouch from a carton of yellow weapons crystals.

Vila glared at him. "What are you doing here? Don't you trust me?" He closed the pouch and pushed it at Avon, who took it, nonplussed. "Here, this is all you wanted, isn't it?" He turned away. "You can go back now."

Avon had never heard him look and sound so bitter and angry. What had Tarrant said to him?

"Vila—" he began.

"Don't move, either of you." Ethim had removed a small gun from his pocket and was holding it on them. "I told Tarrant only one, but two suits me fine."

"Oh, marvellous," Vila said. "Bloody Tarrant. Can't trust his friends, but then I don't suppose his friends trust him much either." He started to edge away.

"I said don't move!"

Avon lifted his bracelet to his mouth. "Cally—"

"That won't help either." Ethim smiled, but his eyes swivelled nervously between the two of them. "As soon as you had the crystals, I sent a signal." He removed his other hand from his pocket and briefly showed them a communicator. "A pursuit squadron will be attacking your ship by now, so your lot'll have their force-wall up. You can't teleport through that, can you, and the guards are on their way."

"Cally, teleport," Avon snapped, but there was no response. He regarded Ethim coldly. "I assume you want the crystals then. The loyal hero will make a little profit on the side."

"Clever, aren't you." Ethim's grin could not hide his nervousness. "Go on, slide them over to me. And no sudden moves."

The man looked unstable. Slowly and carefully, Avon put the pouch on the floor, straightened up, and kicked it towards Ethim. Vila sighed and walked towards the door. Startled, Ethim turned, his finger tightening on the trigger, and Avon immediately drew his blaster and shot him.

"A nice diversion, Vila. Well done."

Vila just looked down briefly at the body, opened the door and went out.

What the hell was going on? This wasn't the Vila he knew with his friendly face and ready wit, even under fire. Avon grabbed the bag of crystals from the floor, shoved it in his jacket, and followed him. "Where are you going?"

Vila ignored him.

"Cally!" Still no answer. Avon began to run after Vila, but hearing the pounding of approaching boots, flattened himself in a recessed doorway.

He could hear Vila putting on his ingratiating act. "Oh, hello, lucky I ran into you lot. I'm just here to fix the heating, and I'm a bit lost. Third corridor on the right, they said, but I think I'm on the wrong level."

Avon closed his eyes, hoping it would work and knowing it wouldn't.

"That's Restal!" someone shouted, and there were two shots.

Avon leapt out, gun ready. He caught only a brief glimpse of Vila, sprawled on his back, bright red already staining the front of his beige tunic before the guards blocked his view. He was lifting his gun, teeth bared, as the teleport took him.

 

He looked down, but he was alone in the bay.

"Avon?" Cally was behind the controls, a hand clutched to her chest, her face worried. "I felt—where's Vila?"

Avon stood, pale with shock, staring at her, unable to understand her words.

"Tarrant, force wall back up and take us out, fast," Cally said into the intercom, and came around to grasp Avon's forearms. "What happened?" she asked gently.

Avon blinked. "Vila's dead. He must be. The teleport only works on living—" he stopped, his face twisting.

"We don't know that. And perhaps his bracelet is broken like mine was that time."

"No. I saw him shot. And you felt it." With a visible effort, Avon controlled himself. He closed his eyes so as not to see Cally's sympathy. For it to end like that, with Vila looking at him as if he were a stranger...

 

Avon lay in his cabin staring up at the featureless white ceiling. He had refused Cally's offer of a sedative and sent her away, unable to bear the knowing sympathy on her face. He took refuge in memories.

 

He had told himself he would never care for anyone again, but that had changed during those months on the  _Liberator_  on their way to Cygnus Alpha. He'd never intended it, but somehow he had let Blake get to him. The man's easy warmth had started to thaw the iciness within him; his open friendliness had charmed him against his will. His stupidly Quixotic cause was another matter.

Jenna was on night-watch, and Avon and Blake were sitting in the rest room, over hot drinks.

"Look, forget your revolution. With a spaceship like this, Blake, we could go anywhere, do anything."

"No. I owe it to those I left behind." Blake looked into his mug. "Those I betrayed."

"It was hardly your fault. It wasn't really you. I for one," Avon said, stretching, "have no intention of going back to Earth again."

"No-one you miss there?"

"No," Avon said shortly.

"I thought you had a brother."

"Correct. Past tense."

"Oh? I'm sorry, Avon, I didn't realise he had died."

"For all I know, he has. The fool met some idiot of a girl who wanted a new life, and they went off to some ghastly primitive colony." It still felt like betrayal. The two boys, with one flighty socialite mother and two cold distant fathers between them, had been close, but Avon doubted if he would ever forgive him for leaving like that.

"No-one else then?"

"No." Not any more.

"Ah, Avon. You sound so lonely." Blake slipped an arm across Avon's shoulders.

Avon stiffened but did not move. "What the hell are you doing, Blake?"

"Offering a little comfort. What else are friends for?"

"You consider yourself a friend of mine?"

"Of course. I thought you knew that."

"As long as that's all it is. I am not interested in commitment, involvement, a relationship, or any other sentimental clap-trap."

"Oh, neither am I." Blake withdrew his arm. "All I'm offering is companionship. I've lost far too many people I remember and probably a lot more that I don't. Besides, anything more would cause division in the crew."

Avon smiled rather maliciously to himself. Jenna's obvious interest in Blake and jealousy of Avon was misplaced to say the least. "There are only two of us," he said. "'Crew' is a somewhat grandiose term, don't you think, especially considering neither one of us actually signed on with you?"

"I plan to get more," Blake said mildly. "Good night, Avon."

Avon made himself another drink, an approximation of cocoa. Liar, he old himself. He was no better than Jenna. Even if he did not lust after Blake, exasperatingly likeable as he was, or Jenna for that matter, he had always wanted the unattainable and probably imaginary. He yearned for someone to say the words of love he found so hard to say himself, longed to be the centre of someone else's universe.

He had loved Anna, but he had known about her, that she had other men and probably women too, that she took an almost destructive delight in dangerous games, but he had always hoped that she might realise he was all she needed, just as she was for him, or that she would come to know it when they went away together after that one last big job.

One would think he would have learned by now, but he still wanted what he could not have, just like Jenna. He despised himself for his foolishness.

 

Although Avon and Jenna had more in common with each other than with Blake, they continued to regard each other with coolness as they made their way to Cygnus Alpha. Jenna seemed willing to adopt Blake's cause because of the man's personal charisma, but Avon decided that he would leave the first chance he got, preferably taking this magnificent ship with him. He thought Blake's idea of getting extra crew on Cygnus Alpha for his crusade a waste of time; the only prisoners not drugged to the eyeballs on the  _London_  were a cowardly pick-pocket, a great oaf, and two vicious-looking types he did not trust. Blake was determined however, and Avon suspected him of misplaced loyalty, a product of the guilt he felt about the prisoners who had been executed to force his surrender. The bloody great bleeding-heart idealist.

Avon had come close to leaving Blake down there and had almost convinced Jenna too. Yet when Blake came back, he had been ridiculously pleased to see him, even though the only so-called crew he had retrieved were mousy little Vila and the lumbering idiot Gan.

Mousy? It was hard to understand how he had ever thought that of Vila, with his lively mobile face and its extraordinary range of expressions. Avon had been surprised at Vila's quick response to his insults, then intrigued as he realised that, far from being the petty criminal he had pretended to be on the  _London_ , he was in fact one of the most accomplished and talented thieves Avon had ever come across—not that that was saying much, given the uneducated brutes he had occasionally dealt with—and as good a foil for his wit as Blake was.

The more Avon got to know Vila, the more he liked him. He was amusing, clever and charming, and had an oddly appealing vulnerability which touched something in Avon, much as he tried to deny it. He told himself he was simply intrigued. How on earth had someone from the Delta service grades acquired such a large vocabulary, try as Vila usually did to hide it? He took an obvious delight in their verbal sparring games, and where had he learned to play chess like that?

"Prison. White-collar types like you." The warm brown eyes looked guilelessly into his.

"They obviously weren't that good. Checkmate."

"You are though and I'm a fast learner. Give me a few months and I'll give you a run for your money."

Avon looked at him sharply. Was that an invitation? He was surprisingly disappointed to realise that it was not.

 

The more Avon got to know Vila, the more he liked him, and it was obvious that Vila reciprocated. After all, he spent most of his time with Avon, content to sit and watch whatever he was doing and exchange friendly insults. And although Avon did his best to pretend it wasn't true, he enjoyed Vila's friendly unassuming company.

It was while they were taking Avalon to her new base that he realised how much he cared about him.

"Nice legs," Vila said appreciatively, watching Avalon walk across the flight deck.

Avon snorted to hide the sharp pang of jealousy.

"I can look, can't I? Anyway, she said she could do with a good thief." Vila looked expectantly at Avon.

Avon did not disappoint him. "She won't find one on this ship."

Vila grinned and tilted his chair back. "Best in the galaxy, me."

"You're not a good thief, you're a locksmith."

"Cracksman is the correct term," Vila objected.

Avon ignored the interruption. "If you were a half-way adequate thief, you would have used your ability to steal enough money to set yourself up for life."

"What would I do that for? Couldn't spend that much in the dome, and it was too dangerous trying to get off-world."

Yes. Avon knew that very well.

"Nah, I just stole enough to live on for a few months each time. Put me feet up—" Vila demonstrated, "—and took it easy in between."

"Have you no ambition?"

"Me? What, you mean like run a province or something." Vila sniggered. "Even if Blake wins this revolution, can you see that? Wrong accent and I wouldn't know a fish-knife if someone stabbed me with one."

"You must want something out of life."

Vila looked at him sideways. "You'd only laugh."

"No, I won't."

Vila picked up one of Avon's tools and fiddled with it. "Just a nice safe place with someone to lo—like me, really like me, you know, enough to stay." He looked at Avon defiantly. "All right, go ahead. Make your jokes. I'd have to be the only man on the planet, right? Or—"

"Do you hear me laughing, Vila?" Avon said quietly.

 

That evening, he invited Vila to his cabin for a nightcap, and was encouraged by his ready acceptance. Glad that he had never bothered to have a chair for visitors, he patted the bed beside him, and Vila promptly sat down, looking as friendly and eager as ever. All he needed was a wagging tail. Avon poured two brandies and gave him one.

"Nice stuff, this," Vila said appreciatively, sipping.

"Considering what I paid for it, that is a somewhat inadequate compliment."

"And you're sharing it with me?"

"Why not? You appreciate the good things in life, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." Vila's grin widened, and stayed there as Avon put an arm across his shoulders.

"I like you, Vila."

Vila blinked. "I like you too, Avon."

Avon slid his arm down Vila's back and around his waist.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

Avon leaned towards him, lips reaching for his. "Stay, Vila."

Vila leapt up, spilling his drink. "What? I—I can't!" He backed towards the door. "Look, sorry, Avon, I didn't realise...I..." The glass in his hand was shaking violently, threatening to spill more brandy on the floor; he put it down quickly. "Don't be angry. It's just that I can't, not...not after what they did to me...you know...in the JD wards and prison and that." He bit his lip and looked at the floor.

"Vila," Avon said gently, standing up. "I understand. But that was an act of domination, you must realise. Not one of friendship or mutual pleasure." He went to Vila, but did not touch him, realising that he was trembling all over with fear.

"Sorry, really, it's not you, Avon. It's me. I mean, if I could, um...well, I like you and all that, but...sorry." Vila hung his head.

"It's all right, Vila." Avon put his hand on Vila's shoulder. Vila winced, but did not move away. Avon released him, and stepped back.

"Avon?" Vila looked up anxiously. "This won't change anything, will it? I didn't mean to, I can't help it, but I do want to be friends still, I mean, I like you, like you a lot, and I still want..." He trailed off miserably.

"Yes, Vila," Avon said, but so quietly Vila couldn't hear as he left. "Still friends."

 

And they had been, carrying on as if it had never happened. But from then on, Avon had done his best to deny his attraction to Vila and the deepening feelings he had, always covering up with his usual sarcasm and biting remarks. Recently it had become ever harder to distance himself from Vila, to pretend he did not care about Dayna's thoughtless cruelty and Tarrant's occasional bullying. So many times he had longed to reach out and touch Vila when he was upset or hurt, to defend him from the others, but had turned away, ignoring the pain in Vila's eyes. Had he done it too well? That last look from Vila was as if from a stranger, and how it had hurt.

And now he was dead.

Avon wrapped up the pain and buried it within himself. Never again would he allow himself to care for anyone. From now on he'd be the cold, unfeeling human computer Vila had once said he was.

 

Vila was not dead. He lay in a hospital bed on the Space Fleet base, wishing he was.

When they had recognised him, he had pulled the trigger in a paroxysm of fear, his gun pointing well over their heads, and the guard who had shot him must reacted as automatically, for Vila remembered someone yelling, "You fool! We wanted him alive!" and his own regret at taking his bracelet off in a fit of 'serve them right' pique when he'd walked ou on Avon.

And why alive? He really hadn't liked the sound of that.

Pretty sad to be wanted more by the Federation than by his crewmates. They hadn't bothered to come back for him like when Cally got left behind that time. No, they were probably delighted at their luck—to have the crystals and be rid of a sueless spare part.

He felt sleepy and dizzy from the painkillers and sedatives, but he had heard someone saying he was strong enough to be operated on again. Why? What was the point? So he could stand up straight in front of the firing squad? He hoped he would die under the anaesthetic. No more fear and pain and loneliness that way. A tear rolled unheeded down his cheek.

 

Cally reread the message on her screen to make sure. "Avon? It's Vila!"

"Who?" Avon stared stonily ahead.

"He is alive."

"No."

"Avon, I had Orac monitor for any communication mentioning him, just in case. It intercepted a message that Vila is well enough to be transferred to Earth."

Avon had not moved, but he had gone very pale. "It's a trick."

"Perhaps it is, perhaps not. Will you risk that?"

Avon got up and came over to Cally's station to read the message on her screen. "Was it in a high-security code?"

"Standard Space Fleet."

Avon looked away, not quite fast enough for Cally to miss the sudden bitterness on his face. "It's a trap."

"But why? It's been five days. Surely if they wanted to trap us, they would have done so sooner."

"They are aware of Orac's capabilities."

"Avon," Cally said gently. "Can we afford to ignore it?"

Dayna and Tarrant had also turned to look at him expectantly.

"Zen," Avon said, "back to Alden 3 at standard by twelve. And Orac. I want to know everything you can find out."

 

Avon nodded at Cally. "Put me down."

He had checked and double-checked. He knew the exact coordinates and layout of the hospital room Vila was in, and had even had Orac tap into the monitoring system and had seen a picture of Vila lying in a bed, his hands manacled to its sides. They might have faked that, but not the abject misery on the face he knew so well.

He materialised beside the bed. Vila lay still and pale, his eyes closed. Avon looked down at him, overcome with emotion, to his chagrin. A detached part of himself noted that his vision was slightly blurred, and the hand he reached towards Vila's face was trembling slightly.

"Vila," Avon said softly, and touched Vila's cheek.

Vila opened his eyes and frowned with bewilderment. "Avon?" he said wonderingly. "Is it really you?"

"It always has been." Avon spoke crisply to cover his emotion and began to sever Vila's manacles with a laser cutter.

"Thought I was dreaming." Vila's eyes glistened with sudden tears. "Didn't think you wanted me."

"Why else would I be here? For the air?" Avon put the cutter back in his belt and pulled the bedclothes down. Vila was wearing the usual inefficiently-designed hospital gown which would probably fail to cover even the slenderest of bodies. "We thought you were dead, Vila." Avon said huskily, and put his arms under Vila's shoulders and knees, and lifted him. Vila automatically put his arms around Avon's neck, and Avon stood, revelling in the weight and warmth of him, and looked down at him and smiled.

"Teleport, Cally."

He was glad that only Cally was there to see him holding Vila. He stood, prolonging that brief moment of physical closeness, his eyes locked with Vila's. Then he stepped forward to the wheeled stretcher they had waiting, deposited Vila on it, and looked up to see Cally smiling with pleasure—and Dayna grinning from ear to ear.

"What are you doing here? You are supposed to be on weapons."

"I thought you might need some help down there." Dayna spun her handgun and slid it into its holster, her dimples deepening.

"Does something amuse you, Dayna?"

"Yeah, you carrying Vila like a baby with his bum all bare."

"If you can think of a more efficient way to transfer someone from one bed to another, please enlighten me."

"Marvellous," Vila said resentfully. "Short of someone to laugh at while I was away, were you?"

"Actually," Dayna said, eyes sparkling, "I almost missed you." She pressed the comms button. "Tarrant, they're both back safely. Let's get out of here."

 

Vila pulled ineffectually at his short gown. "You lot done? I'm freezing."

"Just a minute, Vila." Cally finished the scan. "Patient status?"

"The patient is in good health and recovering well from a punctured right lung and chest surgery. All vital signs are stable."

"Do I need lots of looking after?" Vila asked hopefully. "You could wipe my fevered brow, Cally."

"Bed rest is unnecessary, and the patient has a normal temperature." The medical computer sounded almost disapproving. "The assumption of light duties only for the next five days, a good diet and plenty of rest should be sufficient."

Cally and Avon both smiled.

"Two novelties out of three for you anyway, Vila." Avon said.

"I like that," Vila protested, sliding off the bed. "I get shot, abandoned, and operated on twice, and what sympathy do I get?"

"The bare minimum." Avon's lips twitched, and Vila promptly reached behind and tried to close the gap. He swayed and reached out to steady himself against the bed.

"Come on." Avon took Vila's arm. "I'll help you to your cabin." He rather hoped he might have to carry Vila again, but it proved unnecessary, though the feeling of Vila leaning against him was pleasant. "Here you are," he said, opening the cabin door. "Get some rest. Although I hardly need to tell you to do that."

Vila stepped forward looked around. "Just how I left it. Thanks for not throwing my things out."

Avon, reflecting with a sudden stab of pain that if Vila had never come back, the cabin would have remained permanently closed, consoled himself with the sight of Vila's pert bottom revealed by the inadequate gown.

It was only when he had shut the door and was on his way to the flight deck that he remembered something Vila had said. Operated on twice? He turned and went to the medical unit and punched up a visual review of the scan.

 

"A bomb? Are you sure?" Cally said.

They were all gathered around Avon's console on the flight deck, where they would have ample warning if Vila woke up and came in.

"Oh, yes, and a very clever one too." Avon looked coldly at Tarrant. "The whole thing was an elaborate trap."

Tarrant spread his hands. "Look, I'm sorry. I thought I could trust Ethim."

Dayna rotated the image and flicked through the schematics on Avon's screen. "Very nice. Double-trip circuit activated by teleport." Her appreciative smile suddenly disappeared. "But that means—"

Avon nodded. "Yes. The timer was triggered when Vila was teleported. If we attempt to teleport him again, the bomb goes off and destroys the ship. Very nice indeed."

"And if we don't," Tarrant said, "how long have we got?"

"We had three hours. It is now more like two."

"Well, I don't like to suggest this, but Vila's going to die anyway..." Tarrant's voice trailed off as Avon turned to look at him.

"Put him out an airlock?"

"It makes sense. And it needn't be like that. We could give him a decent send off."

"Avon," Cally said, "Tarrant is right and Vila need not suffer. We can put him to sleep first."

"Yes," Avon said. Humanely, like a pet animal, he though bitterly. It was odd, he had not considered Deltas to be much more than beasts until he got to know Vila. "And no, it does not make sense. You have to consider all of the data. That thing is attached to Vila's heart for a reason." Avon pointed to the relevant circuit. "It will explode as soon as it stops, and take out everything within a spacial."

"Oh, very cl—" Dayna stopped at the look on Avon's face. "Well, it is." She bit her lip. "Well, what's this one then?" She stabbed at the screen to distract Avon.

"I imagine it is a backup for the teleport trigger. It detects the presence of aquitar."

"So what do we do?" Tarrant asked. "We can't teleport him and we can't space him."

"Lateral thinking does not appear to be your forte."

"Ah...we teleport and leave Vila here."

Avon sighed. "A somewhat expensive solution. Think. Given that we are possibly the only ship in the galaxy with a teleport, and you were one of the Fleet's finest to hear you tell it, it surprises me that you have not thought of the obvious answer."

"An escape pod!" Tarrant grimaced at his own obtuseness. "Put Vila in a pod and eject him. We can put him in orbit round a sun in a proper military space burial."

"That is much what I plan to do." Avon frowned at the screen. He was sure there was something he had missed. He had not had the time to analyse the device fully. "But not into space. Vila—" he hesitated, hoping no-one had noticed the break in his voice, then went on. "Vila has an aversion to the dark, the cold, and small spaces. Zen has located a suitable planet for the escape pod to land on. We will reach it within the hour, and I have ordered Zen to find an uninhabited spot with a pleasant climate."

Tarrant raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit sentimental for you, Avon. Particularly as Vila won't know the difference."

"I see no reason why his wishes should not be met regardless." Avon turned and walked out.

 

Vila had got straight into bed, but decided after dozing for a while that he had done enough sleeping in hospital and that he really needed something to eat. He felt a bit disappointed that no-one had bothered to check in on him, but it really had looked as if they had been pleased to see him. He got up, had a wash, and put on a favourite outfit of brown suede, slipping some lockpicks into place in the inner pockets out of almost life-long habit. He considered going to the flight deck, but Tarrant would be there. He decided to put off the inevitable and have a snack in the rest room first.

He looked at the contents of the fridge—a jar of Avon's olives (he was welcome to them), leftover lentil casserole (ugh), some milk and cheese, and a bowl of salad, somewhat wilted—and decided on leftover stew on toast.

Feeling better after having eaten, he was sitting at the table sipping a hot chocolate when Avon came in.

"Hello, Avon, want a drink?"

"No," Avon said abruptly, then put his hand on Vila's shoulder and added, more quietly, "Thank you."

This alone was unusual enough, but Vila wasn't going to complain. He was pleased when Avon sat down beside him, keeping his hand in place. He wasn't going to admit it, but he'd missed Avon, the sour old bastard. And Cally, even if she'd been a bit distant lately. Strict but fair, Cally. He missed Dayna too, despite all her insults. She was bright and lively and Vila liked having her around. Tarrant too, for that matter. He was good company when he wasn't trying to throw his weight about. Pity they didn't feel the same way about him too, but you'd almost think Avon liked him right now.

"Welcome back, Vila."

Avon's voice sounded slightly odd, but Vila barely had time to think about it before Avon's hand slid down his arm, he felt a sudden sharp stab, and he fell into darkness.

 

Avon caught Vila and held him in his arms, his cheek against his hair. He remained like that for a few seconds, utterly still, before he called Cally.

 

Avon strapped himself into the escape pod, then reached for Vila, who was propped up against the open hatch. Cally helped load him in on top of Avon. She looked at him disapprovingly.

"This is foolish, Avon. I know you care for Vila, but you are putting yourself in danger too."

"There is more than an hour yet, and I will not let Vila go alone."

"Very well." Cally hesitated. Wishing Avon luck was hardly appropriate under the circumstances. "Be careful," she said and closed the hatch.

Avon nodded once and pressed the eject button.

The pod shot out into space and fell towards the planet below. Avon held Vila tightly to him and closed his eyes to prevent the weakness of tears. It was hardly fair, to lose Vila not once, but twice. There had been too many losses in his life. His brother, Blake, Tynus, Anna. All gone—family, friends, lovers. And soon Vila would be too, without ever knowing what he felt for him.

More than once Avon was sure he had felt Vila stir in his arms, but it was difficult to tell during the turbulence of their descent. But when Vila moaned and flung an arm out when they hit the ground, Avon realised that he was coming round. Damn. He had failed to take his resistance to drugs into account. Carefully, he rolled Vila to one side, unstrapped himself, opened the hatch and crawled out. He looked back into the pod. Vila seemed to be peacefully asleep again, his face showing that almost childlike innocence which had always secretly rather charmed Avon when he found him asleep on watch. He should really teleport now, but he did not want to leave Vila in the pod because of his claustrophobia. He lifted him and carried him a few paces away before lowering him gently to the grass, then leant over and brushed his lips across his cheek.

"Good bye, Vila," he whispered, and stood to go.

Vila frowned and opened his eyes. "Eh? Wha's going on?" He blinked and rubbed his face. "Avon?" He looked around, puzzled, at the tree-clad hills. "Where are we? What are you doing?"

Appalled, Avon stepped back.

Vila sat up. "You're leaving me here, aren't you?" He felt his wrists for a teleport bracelet and his eyes widened in horror. "You're dumping me! Just like Tarrant said!"

Avon turned his back. "For once in your life, Vila, be brave."

"Don't go, Avon," Vila said in a small voice. "Don't leave me here."

Avon began to walk away.

"I know I'm a coward, I know I'm not much, but I thought...I really thought...please, Avon."

Avon squeezed his eyes shut.

"What did I do, Avon?"

Nothing.

"Please don't go."

Avon lifted his bracelet.

"Av—"

"Teleport."

 

"Avon?" Cally took his arm with concern.

"Let me go."

"There was nothing else we could do. Vila will not feel anything."

"Cally, he was awake."

"Oh, no."

Avon pushed past her. Why had he been so stupid as to bring Vila here? He should have gone back to Alden 3 and set the pod to land just outside the Space Fleet base, then at least his death would mean something. They had designed their clever little bomb so well, but they hadn't thought of that, had they?

Avon stood stock still. But they had.

That was what the aquitar detection circuit on the timer was. Not a backup for the teleport trigger, but an interrupter. He went to the teleport console, punched up the bomb details and traced the diagram with a shaking finger. Yes, he was right. He leaned over the teleport control panel, pulled open a drawer and took out a subspace communicator.

"Cally! Put on a bracelet."

"I don't understand."

"Away from aquitar, the countdown stops. The bomb will only go off if we bring Vila back on board. I've reset the coordinates to put us down five hundred metres from where I left him. I give you my bracelet and you bring it straight back."

"Avon, listen. There are only twenty minutes remaining. Why not wait and make sure you are right?"

"I am right."

"What is the harm in waiting?"

What indeed? Avon found it hard to explain. He had held himself back all his life, never committing completely, always calculating the consequences. But now it seemed important that this time he not did put himself first.

"I will not leave Vila alone any longer."

Cally looked at him for a moment, then nodded, clipped on a bracelet and stepped onto the bay beside him.

"Orac, teleport," Avon said.

 

Cally took Avon's bracelet, and put her hand briefly on his arm. "Good luck. To both of you. Orac, bring me back." She disappeared.

Avon turned, orienting himself. There, further up the slope was the house Zen had located as the only habitation in the immediate area, scanned and pronounced devoid of life. The pod had landed further down, near the river he could see glinting between the evergreens.

Avon ran down the hill, his heart pounding. The detached part of himself which observed the world with detached irony sneered at him for losing control of his feelings, but another part revelled in the unaccustomed freedom.

There he was, curled up in a ball where Avon had left him.

"Vila!"

Vila lifted his tear-stained face. Avon had not thought Vila would be crying, and at the sight, something hurt in his chest too, and he sank to his knees.

"Vila, it's all right. I'm here." He put his arms around Vila and held him.

"You left me." Vila said at last.

"Only for a short time. I'm back now."

"Oh, right. Some sort of game, is it? Make me trust you, then piss off again."

"I won't." Avon stroked Vila's hair. "I promise." He kissed the top of Vila's head, then, encouraged, gently tilted Vila's face to his and kissed his forehead and his wet cheeks. He half expected Vila to flinch away; but instead he trembled and closed his eyes. Avon kissed his eyelids, his nose, his chin, and said, "I love you," and it was only when he saw the look of wonder on Vila's face that he realised what he had said.

"You do?" Vila reached out a hand and tentatively touched Avon's face where it was wet, presumably from its contact with him.

What was the point in denying it now? "Oh, yes." He pulled Vila to him, holding him close. "For some time now."

"Never said." Vila's voice was muffled against the leather of Avon's tunic.

"No."

"Said you despised me."

Avon frowned. Vila had enjoyed their verbal games as much as he had. What had made him think that? "When?"

"To Tarrant in the teleport room before I went to Alden. You and Cally." Vila pulled back to look at him. "Did Tarrant make you dump me?"

Avon remembered Vila's earlier words. "Is that what he said he would do?"

Vila nodded. "To make me get the crystals. He said no-one would care. And I heard you just after, when I was coming back, you said...you said..." Vila looked away.

Ah, no wonder Vila had been so defeated, so—what was it Cally had said?—so hopeless. "I didn't mean it, Vila," Avon said quietly. "And neither did Tarrant. He was quite abject afterwards." He smiled slightly. "You should have seen him. Especially after Dayna made her opinion known."

Vila brightened. "Really?" Then he frowned. "Why'd you say it then? Ashamed 'cause I'm a Delta?"

"That ceased to matter a long time ago. I simply saw no reason for Tarrant to know what I felt."

"Oh...then why'd you bring me here?"

"There's a bomb, Vila."

"On the ship?" Vila looked alarmed. "Is that why we came in the pod?"

"No and yes." Avon settled Vila back against him and began to explain.

 

"...and then I realised that the bomb was inactive out of the presence of aquitar."

"So I can't go back to the  _Liberator_?" Vila looked at him anxiously.

"Not unless it's removed."

Vila bit his lip and said nothing.

"In case you're wondering, neither will I." Avon traced the curve of Vila's cheek with the back of his fingers. "I do not intend to repeat myself, but I meant what I said before."

Vila's worried brown eyes warmed and he suddenly hugged Avon extravagantly. Startled, Avon stiffened, then responded in kind, finding himself unable to prevent what was probably a very foolish smile. Behind Vila's head, he raised one wrist surreptitiously and noted the time. Only a little while to go.

"I will, you know," Vila said.

"What?"

Vila drew back to look at him, his face serious. "Do what you wanted that time. You said you...liked me, and you came back for me, and no-one ever, well, cared that much about me before." He looked nervous, but visibly steeled himself. "So I will."

"Well now," Avon said softly. "I've had more graciously expressed offers, but never one more welcome."

"Oh." Vila sounded both surprised and worried

Avon could not help but smile. "Come here." He pulled Vila into his arms, ruffling his hair affectionately, and as he did so, checked his watch. Only a few seconds now. Even though he knew he was right, he held his breath, but the moment passed uneventfully just like any other. Keeping one arm around Vila, he pulled the communicator from his pocket.

"Cally?"

"Avon! Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Both of you?"

Avon smiled at Vila. "Very much so."

"What are you going to do?"

"Obviously, get the thing removed from Vila. This planet is too close to Federation space for you to wait here for us. I suggest you take yourself further away and I'll contact you in a few days."

"All right. Until then."

Avon stood, pulling Vila to his feet. "There is an empty house up the hill. Can you walk that far?"

Vila nodded, and Avon put his arm firmly around his waist. They stopped briefly at the pod while Avon removed the first aid box with its medical supplies and food concentrates, then they started up the slope.

 

It was almost dusk and beginning to get cool when they reached the wooden house, and by then Avon was supporting most of Vila's weight. Despite that, Vila was indignant when Avon reached down for the lockpick in his boot.

"Excuse me, fingers. I'm the professional."

"You can hardly stand."

"Oh come on. By the time you get that door open, I'll be unconscious with hypothermia and you'll have every alarm in the place going off."

Avon, pleased that Vila was back on form, said dryly, "Be my guest. But if you fall over, I'm leaving you out here."

"Fine." Vila dismantled the lock and was disabling the alarm. "I'll trip you up as you step over me." He pushed the door open and stumbled in. "Some rich bastard's holiday home," he said, collapsing bonelessly onto the nearest couch.

"Rich, yes." Avon closed the door, switched on the lights, and looked around. The place was artfully and expensively rustic, with its deliberately rough-hewn wooden walls, hand-woven furniture fabrics and animal skins on the floor. An enormous Tarsian warg-strangler pelt was spread in front of the open fireplace. "But why bastard?"

"Locks are one thing, but alarms and motion-sensors to keep harmless lost sods like us out of the only shelter for miles around? That's downright mean."

Avon smiled to himself and began looking through open doors, checking each room.

"Besides which, he's got a lock on his liquor cabinet. Not very hospitable, that." Vila looked hopeful. "Couldn't get me something from it, could you?"

"No. It may be alarmed." Amused at Vila's chagrined reaction to his payback, Avon went into the main bedroom. The large bed was already made up ready for its owner, who Avon hoped was not arriving in the near future. He put the first aid box on a chair, switched on a bedside light, and turned the covers down.

On his return, he caught an anxious look on Vila's face, quickly hidden. Avon wanted to reassure him, promise he wouldn't hurt him, but could not say the words. After all, would they be true? Instead he went to the kitchen and checked the food supplies. There were plenty of sealed packs and tins, dry food and spices. Pleased that they would not have to eat tasteless concentrates, Avon opened two self-heating soup packs and emptied them into mugs.

"What is it?" Vila sniffed at his suspiciously.

"Vegetable soup. As it's good for you, I daresay you won't like it."

Vila took a cautious sip. "Shows how much you know. Not bad. You can keep that job." His jest did little to hide his tiredness.

Avon watched him, relieved that he seemed to be all right, considering what he had been through in the last few days. When Vila had finished, Avon took his mug. "Go to bed."

With the look of a condemned man about to meet a firing squad, Vila stood up and shuffled off.

Avon sighed and rinsed the mugs out, checked that the water heating was on for the morning, switched the lights out, and went into the bedroom.

Vila's clothes were hung over a chair, and he was in bed, the covers drawn up to his chin. Avon took a tube of healing ointment out of the first-aid box and put it on the bedside table. Vila looked at it with a mixture of nervousness and resentment.

"Don't need that."

Avon raised his eyebrows.

"Got a luby, haven't I."

Avon was nonplussed. "You have?" The operation to provide lubrication where nature had not was common enough among Alphas, not only for the sexual pleasure it provided, but the added cleanliness regardless of gender or sexual preference. Most people Avon knew had them done as readily as having their teeth straightened or their eyesight corrected. But he had never heard of a Delta having one.

"Why not? After what happened in the JD wards, I saved up for one." Vila had now pulled the covers up so that only his eyes showed. "Knew I'd end up in prison again one day and...well...just wanted it to be...easier." He looked away.

Recalling what Vila had told him of his past, Avon closed his eyes briefly, regretting his insensitivity. Vila had been just a child when they first arrested him. "Vila," he said quietly, "after what we've both been through recently, we won't be doing anything tonight. Just sleeping."

He undressed quickly, got into bed, and put his arms around Vila, who hesitated for a moment, then abruptly turned towards him and curled up against him. Exhausted, he was asleep in minutes, but Avon lay awake for some time, savouring the feel of Vila's hair beneath his chin, and his warm breath on his chest.

 

Vila woke up when the room started to lighten with sunrise. He was facing the edge of the bed, and could feel the warmth of Avon's hand resting on his hip. Carefully he rolled forward, out from under it, hoping not to wake him. Best not to give him ideas ahead of time.

He regretted that promise to Avon now. It had been nice to be cuddled last night, and easy, as usual, to postpone his nervousness about the future till it was needed. But now it was morning, and although Vila was delighted that someone cared, hell, even gave a damn, he wished he could take those words back. Perhaps he could just say, Can't we just be friends, Avon? Nah, couldn't see him accepting that. He'd said 'love'. No-one had ever said that to Vila, well, except for his mum, and she had to, didn't she? He bit his lip. What if Avon lost all interest in him once he'd done it? Worse, what if he liked it and Vila didn't, and it was as bad as it always had been in the past, and Vila had to keep on letting him do it for the sake of friendship, love, whatever. Or fear of Avon's reaction to rejection for that matter. What would that make him?

Vila rolled over and looked at Avon. He'd never seen him asleep before. His face was softer, relaxed and younger-looking. Perhaps he wouldn't be like the others. He might be gentle—yeah, like all those stupid viscast clichés and he'd respect Vila afterwards too, fat chance. Probably the reverse. He might see him as his property, be so jealous that if Vila ever wanted to leave, it would be a betrayal. Avon and betrayal... Vila shivered.

Nah, he liked Avon, always had. He wouldn't be like that, would he?

Perhaps Avon would change his mind.

 

Avon awoke to the sun slanting in the window. This was so strange that he was briefly puzzled until he remembered where he was and turned his head. Vila was staring intently at him, his head propped up on one hand.

"What are you doing, Vila?"

"Just thinking."

Normally Avon would have made a sarcastic comment, but Vila looked so serious. "What about?"

"You. Wondering why someone like you would want someone like me."

Avon was nonplussed. "Surely plenty of women have told you." About his big brown eyes, his gentleness, wit and innocence?

Vila sighed. "Not as many as you might think. I'm not exactly what women look for in a lifetime companion. Most of 'em don't even notice me, at least not like that. And those that did, well they just wanted some fun, a good time, or a bit of comfort. Pass the time. Didn't want  _me_." He dropped his eyes. "Nice enough while it lasted, but I always wanted a bit more. A mate, a real friend, someone to talk to. That's what I'd really like."

"You talk to me."

"I know."

"Having second thoughts, Vila?"

"Oh, no."

"You're an unconvincing liar."

Vila swallowed. "Meant what I said. Thought  _you_  might though, have second thoughts, that is. I mean, maybe your expectations are too high. You'll only be disappointed." He ended on a note of tentative hope.

"Vila," Avon said. "Given that I have known you for almost four years and already know the worst of you, that is really not possible."

"Oh."

"Vila, I am amazed that you, as a self-confessed sybarite, wish to continue to deny yourself pleasure."

Vila looked unconvinced.

Action might work better than words. Avon pulled him towards him and kissed him on the tip of his nose. As he ran his fingers lightly and caressingly down Vila's back, Vila gasped and closed his eyes, trembled, and tightened his arms around Avon.

"Don't be frightened."

"Not."

"Yes, you are. Look at me. I'll take it as slowly as you like. I won't do anything you don't want me to. All you have to do is say 'stop'. All right?"

"Yes," Vila whispered.

"I won't hurt you, Vila. You're safe with me." Avon leaned over him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "If you want me to stop at any time, just say the word." Gently, he began to caress Vila, kissing his neck, his chest, his nipples, his hands moving gradually lower. He watched as Vila's anxious tense look slowly disappeared, his eyelids lowered and his breath came a little faster. Encouraged, Avon used a finger. "Relax, Vila. That's good." He used a second, noting that the luby betrayed Vila's arousal. "Is that all right?"

"Mmm."

"You're doing well." Avon inserted a third, working his fingers carefully while he kissed Vila, whose mouth opened at last beneath his. "Ahh, Vila," he murmured, positioning himself above Vila. "May I?"

Vila nodded nervously.

Carefully, Avon moved in. "All right?"

Vila's hands tightened on his shoulders. "Yes," he said cautiously.

Avon, who had a good knowledge of anatomy and knew how to use it, gently altered the angle of Vila's hips and legs so that he could both move further in and put pressure in the right internal places, and was gratified with Vila's look of surprised pleasure. Carefully, so as not to hurt him, Avon began to move slowly, watching with fascination the succession of expressions on Vila's mobile face: his uncertainty and fear giving way to thoughtfulness, growing delight, and wonder. Vila's eyes widened and his fingernails bit into Avon's back.  _Don't tell me to stop now, Vila, I don't think I could..._

Vila suddenly convulsed around him, limbs and body, crying out his name, and Avon lost control, driving into him, sobbing with his own release. He fell, gasping, on top of Vila, overcome.  _So long waiting for this. Vila, don't leave me, don't betray me, stay with me, please stay with me..._  He distantly felt Vila's hands moving on his back, and belatedly wondered if he had hurt him. He levered himself up and looked down at him.

"Are you all right?"

Vila gave him that cheeky Vila-smile he hadn't seen for months. "Can't you tell?"

Relieved, Avon began to withdraw, but Vila tightened himself and his arms and legs about him. "Don't go."

"Oh?"

"It's nice and warm. Makes me feel wanted."

"Oh, you are. Very much."

"Avon? I...like you more than anyone else I've ever met."

"I rather think I reciprocate."

Vila beamed, then looked worried. "It won't change when we're back on the  _Liberator_  with the others?"

"No."

"You won't mind if Tarrant knows?"

"Of course not."

"You did before."

"It was different then."

"You don't care that I'm..." Vila swallowed. "...a Delta, a low level one at that? A grade-four ignorant?"

"If I minded, I would not be here with you now." Avon kissed him lingeringly. "Besides which, you have more wit and intelligence than most Alphas I know."

"Really? I always thought—"

"That you fooled me with that act? Vila, one of my little games with you was to see just how extensive your vocabulary is. Every insult hit its mark. And I had Orac look up your original IQ score some time ago. The one before you had it changed and bought that ignorance grade."

Vila looked abashed. "Oh. Did you?" He grinned. "Only want me for my mind then?" He wriggled against Avon, making him draw his breath in, then experimentally tightened around him. Avon moaned.

"Does that feel good?"

"Oh, yes."

Vila ducked his head, smiled with shy pride, and did it again.

"Vila, do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

"You like it?"

"Vila...I am thirty-eight years old."

"So?" Vila looked puzzled. "I'm six years younger. What of it?"

"I shouldn't be able to..." Avon demonstrated.

"Ah!"

This time, Vila responded with passion to Avon, meeting each of his movements, angling his hips to allow him deeper access, welcoming him, and Avon did not hold back, wanting to possess Vila completely, crying out with astonished delight as they both climaxed together and collapsed, exhausted, in each other's arms.

"I'm sorry," Vila said finally.

"What for?"

"Not believing you that time when you wanted to. You did say it would be different from, well, the other times. Wish I'd believed you."

"Vila, you were terrified."

"I know, but all that time we could've—"

"You were shaking with fear. And you weren't far off it this morning. What would it have taken to convince you?"

"What you...felt about me."

"It was most unlikely I would ever have admitted that." Avon traced the line of Vila's left eyebrow with a finger. "Not then. It took a bomb to do it now."

Vila looked relieved. "You don't hold it against me then?" Avon's lips twitched, and Vila grinned, realising what he'd said. "Doesn't matter anyway," he said, pressing closer to Avon, "Not now."

Avon was drifting contentedly off to sleep when Vila spoke again.

"Avon?"

"Mmm?"

Vila gave him a quick peck of a kiss, his first. "Think I might I love you," he whispered.

Avon was unable to reply.

Vila looked hurt. "I mean it, you know."

"I know." Avon said huskily. "No-one ever said it to me before." Anna had called him 'love', but never actually said she loved him.

"Oh, well, that's all right then. First time I've said it."

"Vila." Avon clutched him tightly to him, suddenly afraid. He had to find a heart surgeon to remove that bomb, and if something happened during the operation...

"Avon? Can't breathe!" Vila voice was muffled.

"Sorry."

As if he had read Avon's thoughts, Vila said, "You're scared, aren't you?" and when Avon didn't answer, "I am."

"Why?"

"More you have, the more you can lose."

"Yes. I know."

"It'll be all right. We can look after each other now."

Avon smiled.

"Well, look, I know that sounds a bit one-sided, but you'll see."

"Oh, Vila. I shall take that as a promise."

 

"You like that?"

"I do. What do you call it?"

Vila shrugged. "Just stir-fry. Traditional Delta recipe, take anything you can find, fry it all up together with lots of spices in case anything's gone off, and serve."

They were sitting on a couch in the living room eating lunch, although it was three in the afternoon. Avon had earlier brought Vila breakfast in bed, delighting him.

"I could get used to this," Vila had said, stretching luxuriously.

"I wouldn't if I were you. You can cook lunch."

"I don't mind."

And Vila hadn't. It had been surprisingly enjoyable doing it for someone he cared about, quite different from cooking when it was his turn on the  _Liberator_  and never getting a compliment or even a word of thanks. He watched now with pleasure as Avon finished the last of the spicy vegetables, chopped salami, and noodles.

Vila lifted his glass of red wine. "Cheers. Mmmmm, this is good. All of a year old, I'd say."

"Give me a taste." Avon took Vila's glass and put it on the coffee-table with the empty plates, and kissed Vila thoroughly, lowering him down onto the couch. He fumbled between them and undid Vila's trousers, using both hands to work them down below his hips.

"You'll have to get them right off," Vila said.

"Not in this case." Avon unwrapped Vila's arms from his neck and stood up to unpeel his own trousers.

"That's the trouble with skin-tight leather," Vila said, watching with interest, his hands behind his head. "You can't just kick 'em off while you're lying down." He demonstrated.

"And I thought you wore loose clothes to hide your tools and ill-gotten gains."

"Man of many talents, me."

"Indeed. No, don't move. Stay like that." Avon positioned himself astride Vila and lowered himself carefully.

"Ah!" said Vila. "I'll just lie back and think of the Federation, shall I?"

"If you can think of anything at all, I shall be amazed."

Avon was right. Their wine was forgotten for quite some time.

 

"I don't see why we can't stay longer."

"Because whoever owns this place could well turn up." Avon scrolled through the planetary medical directory on the house's computer.

"Well, all right, not here. Somewhere else. We're multi-millionaires with anonymous numbered accounts." Vila came to stand beside Avon, and put his hand on his shoulder. "And a whole neutral planet to get lost in."

Avon put an arm around Vila's waist. "You're dreaming."

"Why?"

"The idea is untenable. For a start, you're a walking time-bomb. It is extremely unlikely that aquitar is used here, but there are people doing research on it. You come anywhere near it, and you'll won't just be dead, Vila, you'll take a couple of city blocks with you."

Vila was silent.

"I've ordered a flyer. We leave here tomorrow morning."

"All right," Vila said reluctantly, then with forced brightness, "but there's plenty of time till then."

"Yes," Avon said softly, pulling Vila closer, "there is."

 

Dr Uta Reiffer examined the results of the scan and looked up at the two men sitting in front of her. "Of course I can do it. It's a very delicate operation, but quite within my capabilities." She smiled thinly, aware that she was the best heart surgeon on Neuwelt and possibly in the entire sector, and these two knew it. "I will not ask why one of you has a bomb attached to his heart. After all, I shall find the challenge stimulating."

The nervous one looked more so and moved perceptibly closer to the other one.

"Then we have a deal," his companion, a striking dark-haired man, said calmly. "May I?"

Reiffer passed her compu-pad to him, and he keyed in a series of numbers.

"There. Two hundred thousand credits have been transferred to your account." He passed it back.

Reiffer did not bother to check, but slid the pad to one side. "And I assume I may publish in the medical journals? I believe this will be a first."

"Of course."

Reiffer noticed that her patient had grabbed his friend's hand. She smiled.

 

Avon insisted on watching the operation from the observation gallery. Although he was behind glass, he could hear everything they said, and see all they did with the aid of a remote-controlled monitor. The sight of Vila's open chest and beating heart upset him more that he had thought it would, but he forced himself to watch closely as Reiffer and her assistant, a slender young man, worked. He had his  _Liberator_  handgun ready inside his jacket, remembering Kayn's dissembling while Gan almost died. Reiffer, however, worked quickly and efficiently, and soon detached the device from Vila's heart, dropping it into a tray with an audible clunk. Avon sighed with relief, and watched critically as they carefully repaired the lesions left by its removal, and began to close up. At last the only sign of the operation was a bright pink scar on Vila's chest which faded visibly as the assistant ran a regenerator over it.

Reiffer nodded to Avon. "It went very well. Your friend will be fine. We're just taking him through to the recovery room. I'll let you know when we're finished."

They wheeled Vila into a small room off the theatre, and Avon went to the window facing into it. He watched as they attached monitoring equipment and a drip, and did some more scans. Reiffer talked into a camera held by the assistant while waving her hands about over Vila's chest, and dictated rapid notes into her compu-pad, presumably all for the medical journals.

Finally, she beckoned Avon in. "You may sit with him if you wish. Oh, and here is the little device. I sincerely hope you can defuse that thing."

"Of course." Avon took it and slipped it into a pocket.

"He'll need to stay here for the next six hours. His vital signs will be monitored remotely, but you can press this button if you need anything." Reiffer shrugged off her white coat and handed it to her junior without looking at him. "After that he can be moved to a hospital room." She pulled her gloves off and flung them towards the young man who caught them and dropped them into a laundry trolley with the discarded coats.

"How long does he need to stay here?" Avon asked as they left.

"Two days, one with complete bed rest." Reiffer paused at the door. "Oh, and I mean that. No sex."

Avon raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at her.

"I always give my patients a thorough scan." Reiffer smiled smugly and closed the door behind her.

Avon sat down beside Vila and took his hand. Vila stirred and opened his eyes. "They've gone, haven't they."

Avon jumped, then remembered Vila's resistance to drugs, which he had not thought to tell Reiffer about. "Yes."

"Thought so." Vila smiled weakly. "You wouldn't hold my hand in public."

Avon was touched by how well Vila knew him. "Are you all right? You're not in pain?"

"No. Just feel a bit fuzzy and floaty. Came round while they were sticking things to me and taking pictures. Avon?" Vila tried to focus on Avon, worried.

"What is it?"

"Heard what they were saying. She's sold us to the Federation. Took photos to send as proof."

"I paid her more than a year's earnings." Avon reached for his gun.

"Two million's a lot more. S'pose she recognised us." Vila closed his eyes. "You'd better go. Can't move."

"No."

"Stupid for both of us to get caught."

Undoubtedly it was. "I meant what I said before, Vila. I'm not leaving you."

He was unsure if Vila had heard. He put his hand on Vila's cheek, and thought.

He could call the  _Liberator_  back, take the bomb and discard it somewhere far enough away that it would not reactivate, then return for Vila and wait for Cally to bring bracelets for them. Avon considered it. Even if the  _Liberator_  had been in orbit, it was too dangerous. Vila might be moved elsewhere by the time he got back. Or worse.

Think. Reiffer had known about them being lovers, and was doubtless counting on him staying with Vila. If he was lucky, there would be no locks or guards—after all she would hardly want to share the bounty money with anyone else.

He removed the drip, but realised that a disruption in Vila's life signs would set off alarms. He opened the door and looked into the corridor. There were several people in sight. He called to a man who looked like a nurse or medical orderly.

"Excuse me?" Avon tried to approximate Vila's innocent and harmless look. "My friend's just had an operation and he doesn't look right."

The man followed him obligingly into the room, and fell without a sound when Avon clubbed him on the back of the neck with his reversed handgun. Quickly, Avon moved Vila to the edge of the bed, removed the man's white coat, laid him beside Vila, opened his tunic, and transferred the monitoring equipment from one to the other, each time between heart-beats. Then he pulled out some of the soiled surgical garments from the laundry trolley and carefully lifted Vila and deposited him gently in the trolley, curled into the foetal position to fit. He put a small bag from the country house, now containing Vila's clothes, in with him, and put the dirty laundry back on top, covering them. Wearing the orderly's coat, Avon then wheeled the trolley out into the corridor.

No-one seemed to take any notice. Avon had no particular plan, but kept walking rapidly, his head down, until he saw a door labelled Cleaners. Behind it was a room filled with buckets, mops, containers of various chemicals, and a row of hooks on which clothes hung. This looked promising. The faded garments were obviously the cleaners' street clothes. Avon lifted Vila out of the laundry trolley and dressed him in a striped shirt and blue trousers and his own shoes, not an easy task with an unconscious man. He then changed into brown trousers, patched in several places, and a faded pink shirt, putting his leather jacket and trousers into the bag with Vila's. He patted his pockets, and was pleased to find an ID card and a transport credit chit. He checked Vila's pockets and found the same, plus some cash which he put in his own. Then he slung the bag over his shoulder, put Vila's arm around his neck, grasping his wrist firmly with one hand, then, with his other arm tightly about Vila's waist, he left.

They got out of the hospital easily enough. As they passed people, Avon muttered, "Idiot. I told you you'd had too much. Alcohol poisoning, they said..."

 

Vila came around on the transporter. He was slumped against Avon, his head lolling on Avon's shoulder.

"Uh? Wha's happening?"

"Well might you ask, you drunken sot." Avon reprised his act, which had been quite successful in keeping the other passengers well away or studiously ignoring them.

"Where we going, Avon?" Vila whispered.

"I have no idea," Avon muttered back.

"Get off somewhere poor."

"What?"

"Find a residential hotel, the kind workers live in."

"I bow to your superior judgement."

 

Avon felt ill-at-ease in this part of town. He had never been lower than the Beta levels on Earth, but at least his clothes seemed to blend in with those of the people around him. He had dropped his patter, unsure of his ability to disguise his accent and manner of speech sufficiently well. "This sort of place?" he asked Vila, who hung limply at his side, his head on Avon's shoulder. "Vila?" He shook him to rouse him.

"Nah! Rent by the hour, they do. Full of pros and druggies. Dangerous place."

"I don't want to carry you around much longer. You should be in bed."

"S'all right, you're doing all the work."

Avon, concerned that he might be hurting Vila unawares, bit back his worries and continued along the street. "This one?"

"Bit grubby," Vila said, screwing up his face.

"It's either this one or the next," said Avon, who was tiring rapidly. He stopped outside Mama Gret's Home from Home. "Does this meet with your approval?"

"Yeah, all right. It's clean and she looks friendly."

Avon sighed with relief and entered the lobby. The plump middle-aged woman behind the counter smiled at them. "Hello, lovey. Want a room?"

"Obviously." Avon leaned against the counter, propping Vila's weight on it.

"Is your friend all right?"

"He drank too much."

Vila lifted his head and grinned guilelessly into her eyes. "Birthday party. Lo's of nice drinky-poos." He blinked owlishly at Avon. "Can't go home. Mili said she'd throw me out if I got drunk again."

"Yes, I know," Avon said, wishing he was as good at this as Vila was. "We are staying here tonight."

"Better make it two or three nights," Vila said, slumping onto the counter. "Give her time to cool down."

"Twin room, then?" Gret asked Avon.

"Thank you."

 

Vila was right. Everything in the room was old and faded, but clean, to Avon's relief. He undressed the semi-conscious Vila—not, unfortunately, the erotic exercise he had always imagined it would be—and put him to bed.

"Kill for a drink."

"You must be joking, Vila."

"Jus' water...dying of thirst."

Damn, of course he was. He should still be on a drip. Luckily the room had basic facilities to make drinks; Avon filled a glass from the tap, added the contents of a sugar sachet, and lifted Vila's head and helped him to drink it. "Now go to sleep."

He pulled up a chair beside Vila's bed and watched him for a while, feeling his own face relax into unaccustomed tenderness. Vila seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his breath regular. Reassured, he called Cally to warn her to keep away, well out of Servalan's way, then began to examine the bomb using some of Vila's tools, in an attempt to distract himself from his worry about Vila and his own tiredness.

As Dayna had said, it was a clever device. Now it was in his hands, it was relatively easy to disable the trigger. He would be able to take it back on the  _Liberator_  now, and he was sure he would think of a good use for it. Preferably against Servalan. He yawned and began to reassemble it.

"Not keeping that, are you?"

Avon looked up. "You're meant to be asleep."

"I would be, but for the agony."

Avon put the bomb down and went to Vila, concerned. "Where? In your chest?"

Vila nodded mournfully, looking pale.

Of course it hurt. There would have been some form of pain-killer in the drip. Avon cursed himself for not getting something from the hospital while he was there. He hoped that the pain Vila felt was normal, and not a result of being lugged half-way across town. A commercial pain-killer, designed for headaches and such things, would not do much, especially for Vila who was resistant to drugs. A pity they weren't on the  _Liberator_ ; he always responded well to adrenaline and soma. Of course! The stuff wasn't known in the Federation, but Cally had said it was common enough outside it; a popular drink. She had learned about it from her fellow rebels on Saurian Major and concocted it on the  _Liberator_. And Neuwelt was a neutral planet.

"Vila? I'm going out to get you something."

"No." Vila grabbed for his hand. "Don't go."

"I'll be back soon. I promise." Avon gently disentangled his hand from Vila's grip.

"Just wait here then, shall I?"

Avon smiled at the weak joke and tousled Vila's hair.

"Be careful." Vila begged him as he left.

He was back quickly with two bottles and some food. Vila looked pale and strained, and was breathing too quickly. Avon filled a glass and brought it to him.

"Here, drink this."

"What is it?"

"Your favourite. Adrenaline and soma."

Vila's hands clutched at his shirt as Avon lifted him. "My hero." He tried to smile.

Avon held the glass to his lips. "Slowly now. That's right. Drink all of it." He set the glass aside, and carefully lowered Vila to the bed, and took one of his hands. Vila responded by grasping his so tightly Avon had to stifle a protest.

He sat with Vila, holding his hand and stroking his hair until his grip loosened and his eyes closed. Avon remained there for several hours, giving Vila more to drink every time he woke in pain. By next morning, he was sleeping peacefully again, and Avon finally lay down on the other bed and fell into dreamless oblivion.

 

Later in the day, Vila felt well enough to want to get up.

"Absolutely not. One day's complete bed rest is what the doctor said."

"I need to pee."

"Here is an empty bottle."

"No. I can't. I'm embarrassed."

"Vila, that is completely illogical considering how intimately we now know each other." Avon sighed and went into the little bathroom, leaving the door open, and ran water into the hand-basin to encourage him.

"Anyway, how d'you know she was telling the truth?" Vila's voice came from the other room. "She probably just said that to keep us there."

"I'm not taking any chances." Avon thought about Reiffer and rapped his fist hard against the wall. "I shouldn't have paid her all that money up front."

"Why? Aren't I worth it?"

Avon turned, the corners of his mouth lifting at the sight of Vila propped against the pillows, an urchin grin on his face and a full bottle in his hand. "Oh, you're priceless." He took the bottle away to empty it. "You're right. We paid her for the operation and she delivered."

"I wouldn't worry about her anyway," Vila said. "I'd hate to be in her shoes when Servalan finds out we're gone."

Avon sat down on the bed beside him.

"Bet they think we already ditched the bomb and teleported out." Vila looked sly. "So we can hang around here for a while."

"Indeed we can."

Vila looked surprised at his easy victory.

"I contacted Cally while you were asleep and told them to stay well away as the area is probably swarming with pursuit ships."

Vila grinned. "How long did you say?"

"Oh, I thought three weeks ought to do it," Avon said casually.

Vila bounced in the bed with delight. "Three weeks! We'll have to go somewhere nice!"

"I hardly intended to stay here."

"It's all right, but hardly a holiday resort." Vila leaned back and looked up dreamily at the ceiling. "Somewhere in the sun by the water. Nothing to do all day but enjoy ourselves." Vila looked sideways at Avon "And each other. Come on, get under the covers."

"Certainly not. You have to rest."

"I only meant for a cuddle."

Vila looked so appealing, Avon succumbed. Vila sighed happily, resting his head on Avon's shoulder.

"Now what? Perhaps you'd like a bedtime story?"

"Why not? I like stories."

Avon knew Vila read a lot on night watch, and twice found his book pad lying on the flight couch. The first time, it was I, Claudius, the second, something Avon did not know, called The Master and Margarita. He had looked it up and discovered it was a banned novel with themes the Federation regarded as very subversive. He was unsure whether Vila actually read these books or not; after all, he wouldn't put it past him to have planted them for a reaction.

"Oh? What sort?"

"You might be surprised."

"Nothing would surprise me about you, Vila. I suppose you've even read War and Peace."

"Twice."

"I take it back. You can still surprise me. Why?"

"Why not? Don't know why everyone goes on about it as if it's some sort of monumental challenge. First time was on CF1 when another lag, a white-collar like you, recommended it to me."

"Doubtless to shut you up for a while."

Vila grinned. "It did for a couple of weeks anyway. Then I read it again about six years ago."

"I gather you enjoyed it, then."

"Why else would I read it? Good plot, interesting people I liked—Natasha and Pierre were my favourites. Bet you liked Andrei."

Avon smiled. Vila's mask was not just slipping but almost off.

"Didn't agree with Tolstoy about history though," Vila said.

"Explain."

"Well, he said the French would've invaded Russia anyway, that some impersonal force of history made them. A sort of unconscious mass movement, and Napoleon was irrelevant. A bit like Asimov's psychohistory I suppose."

"And you disagree." Avon said it curiously, not sarcastically as he once would have.

"Yeah, I do. I mean, us Deltas get the raw end of the deal at the bottom of the pyramid. All of us'd like to see things change, but we all think, millions of us, what's the use, what can one person do? I think it needs someone to make people think they can make a difference. Someone to believe in."

"Ah. Someone like Blake."

"Right." Vila shifted in the bed so that he no longer touched Avon. "He made me think I was important, part of something bigger than myself. That what I did mattered."

In the past, Avon would have sneered, but now he wanted to hear more.

"But he did it all wrong. He tried to get to the Alphas. If you want to topple a pyramid, you do it from the bottom. The ones on top can't move it, and anyway, why would they want to? Don't want to be thrown off their nice comfortable perches, do they?"

"You never said any of this before."

"Would anyone have listened?" Vila was bitter. "You'd have all ignored me, or been amused at the clever little Delta for being able to stand on his hind legs and bark."

Avon sighed. "Possibly. But that's not true now."

Vila looked at him searchingly, then his eyes softened. "I know." He lay back against Avon. "Doesn't matter anyway. We're not rebels any more."

Avon put his arm around him. No, just fugitives snatching a bit of unexpected happiness.

 

"Are you sure about this?" Avon looked about the darkened street nervously.

"You didn't have to come, you know."

"Yes, I did. You only got out of bed a few hours ago. I need to protect my investment."

Vila grinned. "Relax, Avon. This is my area of expertise." He looked up at the shop signs. "Should be one around here somewhere. This is the right sort of neighbourhood."

"Unspeakably sordid."

"That's right. Ah, here we are. Fantasy Planet." Vila got out his lockpicks and opened the door. "Come on."

Avon followed him in, and wrinkled his nose at the musty stale smell.

"Ugh," said Vila. "I bet these places have the same niff all the galaxy over."

"A frequent habitué, are you?"

"Certainly not!" Vila was offended. He turned on a dim light. "I have my standards, I'll have you know."

Avon looked around at the racks of clothes and accessories hanging on the walls. "Then how do you know about these places?"

"Had a fence who liked to meet in one, nice and anonymous, he said. After a couple of times I made him change to a pub." Vila shuddered. "Always give me the creeps, these shops and the ones that sell...implements. You know," Vila said seriously, "there are some very sick people around."

Avon fingered a garment curiously. It was the uniform of a school pupil, but in an adult size. Further over was a Federation trooper outfit, complete with helmet and gas mask. "Now, that could come in useful."

"Not for anything kinky, I hope!"

Vila sounded alarmed, and Avon could see the whites of his eyes in the gloom. He smiled fondly at him.

"Of course not. I meant tactically."

"Ah. Well I doubt if it's authentic. I bet that feathered thing behind it's a Servalan outfit now I think of it. Let's see, where's the hair?" Vila headed off towards the back of the shop. "Here we are."

Avon followed him, and stopped, stunned. "Have you taken leave of the few senses you possess?"

Vila was pawing through a rack of wigs. There were all colours and styles: little girls' blonde plaits, pink warlord tufts, multi-coloured 'frights' that looked as if their owner had been electrocuted, wild curls. "There might be some decent ones." Vila finally chose two wigs, a glossy black one, and a spiky light-brown and blonde-streaked one. "These'll do. Now to find the other stuff." He went behind the counter and started opening locked drawers. "Got 'em. Skin pills."

"Just what are skin pills?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious," Vila said loftily. "They change the colour of your skin for a few days." He selected a few and put them in his pocket.

"Just how do you know about these things?" Avon had never thought he had led a particularly sheltered life, but this place was an eye-opener.

Vila collapsed onto a shabby chair, looking tired. "It's useful in case you have to go on the run. Besides..."

"Besides what?"

Vila looked a little embarrassed. "Well, sometimes I used to think it might be nice to be someone else, someone other than funny scared little Vila Restal."

Avon went over and stood in front of him. "You're not serious."

"Thought about it. But I never did it." Vila looked up and smiled tiredly. "I figured, if they didn't like me the way I am, too bad."

"Good." Avon pulled him to his feet, and looked at him, wanting to say more.

"Couldn't have kept it up anyway, being someone else."

"You don't have to be. Have you got everything you need?"

"I have now."

Avon had the feeling Vila's words covered more than the wigs and pills. He put his hand gently to Vila's cheek. "Then let's go." Out in the street, he put an arm firmly around his waist.

Vila did the same. "Thought you didn't like public displays of affection."

"I don't, but I have no intention of carrying you if you collapse."

"Oh. Pity."

 

Vila sat up in bed and stretched. Then he turned to Avon in the other bed and stared. He pulled the covers down, and laughed in delight.

"What the hell are you doing, Vila?"

"You're beautiful! Chocolate brown, and all over too!" Vila reached out a hand to touch, and Avon caught it by the wrist.

"Not here."

"Why?"

"I do not wish to associate significant memories with such sordid surroundings."

Vila looked around at the faded wallpaper, threadbare furniture, and patched bedcovers. "It's all right, well, clean anyway." He smiled. "I don't care. I'll have good memories of here."

Avon raised an eyebrow.

"You holding my hand and stroking my hair when it hurt."

Avon's throat felt suddenly tight. To cover it, he got out of bed and went to the mirror. The face that looked back at him was dark and exotic, like a Silmarenan.

"Good quality pills, those," Vila said behind him. "Here, try the wig."

Vila's deft hands adjusted it on his head, and Avon looked again. His hair was now glossy and black, falling straight to his jaw-line.

"You look like a prince," Vila said admiringly. "A perfect disguise. You're never going to disappear into a crowd like me, so why not stand out even more? Hey, how do I look?"

Avon turned. The streaked blond mop rather suited Vila, taking years off his apparent age; he looked like a cheeky street-urchin. "Delectable."

Vila's face fell. "Oh. Well, I know my hair makes me look older." He brightened. "Look, I could make it permanent, get a hair transplant."

"Not the wig," Avon said patiently. "You."

Vila beamed. "Don't mess with perfection?"

"Don't push it." But Avon smiled.

 

Avon sat on a bench in a tree-lined street in the city centre, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, and two new suitcases packed with clothes at his feet. He was wearing a silk shirt in rich dark green with a stand-up collar, and burgundy-coloured trousers. He had to admit that Vila, who had picked them out, had better taste than he had thought.

Vila, dressed in cream linen, emerged from the building opposite, looking pleased. Avon watched with pleasure as he crossed the road, looking more confident than Avon had ever seen him.

"Got the perfect place," Vila said gleefully, sitting down beside him.

"Did you?"

"House right by the sea, another rich bastard's holiday home, with a swimming pool, all furnished, food for two weeks being brought in, everything we need."

"Well away from other people?"

"Of course." Vila grinned. "I said we wanted somewhere private because we're on our honeymoon."

Avon turned to look at him. Even though the sunglasses, Vila could feel the impact of his glare and drew back slightly.

"Our honeymoon?" Avon said icily.

"That's right," Vila said defiantly.

"Vila. I have no intention of submitting to a ridiculous ceremony with ghastly music and deplorable sentiment, nor do I plan to give you a bonding ring."

"I don't care. Look, we said what we felt, and promised we'd never leave each other. If that's not bonding, what is?"

Avon held his stare for a few moments longer, to make him stew a little. "I suppose you are right."

Vila knew Avon well enough by now to detect the slight softening in his expression, and smiled happily.

"Do we have transport to this place?" Avon asked.

"I rented a flyer, should be here soon." Vila watched admiringly as a woman walked past, then turned back to meet Avon's stare. "I can still look, you know."

"Of course. I have never understood why one is expected to confine one's appreciation of pulchritude to one's chosen partner."

"Me neither."

Avon smiled. "What, no 'whatever that means', Vila?"

"Not any more." Vila sat back with his arms along the back of the bench. "Don't have to keep our force-walls up now. Not when it's just us, anyway."

Avon looked at him thoughtfully. "No."

Vila put his head on one side. "We can always fire the occasional neutron blast across each other's bows though. Just to keep in practice."

"Oh, I plan to." Avon's lips twitched. "After all, you're such a good target."

 

Vila stared out the window with delight as the verdant landscape rushing past beneath them gave way to a strip of white sand, then the blue and purple sea. This was the sort of place he had always dreamed of.

"This is fun."

"This is merely a form of personal transport."

"Give me a go at the controls?"

"Certainly not. People like you are doubtless the reason the Federation banned private vehicles in the first place."

"Another time? We could take a look round the area."

"Well, now. Exploring new territory with you is something I definitely plan to do, Vila."

"Oh, good." Then Vila realised what Avon meant, and looked sideways at him. Avon stared straight ahead, a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.

Vila grinned, slid the window open and stuck his head and arm out, the wind whipping his blond wig about his face.

"I believe dogs do that sort of thing." Avon said.

Vila closed the window and sat back, his hair standing on end, and his face far too innocent.

Avon turned to him, suddenly suspicious. "Just what were you doing, Vila?"

"Nothing."

"I know you better than that. You threw that bomb out, didn't you?"

Vila blushed, giving himself away.

"I had plans for that," Avon said, annoyed.

"It's me the damned thing was in. It was...immoral."

Avon sighed. "It was a device, nothing more."

"Designed for one purpose, to kill people. To kill us."

"No worse than a gun is."

"Don't like those either."

"Ah, Vila. What am I going to do with you?"

Avon no longer sounded angry. Encouraged, Vila said, "Want a list?"

 

Vila dropped his suitcase and looked out over the swimming pool to the glistening sea. The warm breeze sighed through the trees around them. "Pinch me, I'm dreaming," he said, then added quickly, "No don't! I don't want to wake up."

"Open the door," Avon said. "No, Vila," he added patiently, "with the key they gave you."

"Goes against the professional grain." Vila unlocked the door and hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Aren't you going to carry me over the threshold?"

"Given the number of times I've carried you lately, I should have thought it was your turn."

"I haven't been well. I might strain my heart."

"The first is right, and the second is a near certainty in a few minutes." Avon kissed Vila gently, while unsealing and removing his wig to reveal the Vila he knew. "Such a pity you're not wearing white."

"Bit late for that now." Vila pulled Avon's own wig off and put his arms around his neck.

Avon slid Vila's trousers down and cupped his hands under his bottom. "Come on then. Put your legs around my waist." As Vila complied, he boosted him up, then inserted a finger.

Vila gasped, then grinned at Avon in surprised pleasure and leaned forward to nuzzle Avon's neck and ear. As Avon walked into the house, neither noticed much of their surroundings, and by the time they got to the bedroom they were both breathing very hard. Avon dropped Vila onto the bed and fell on top of him, kissing him while they both fumbled desperately at their clothes, both so aroused that they dispensed with the usual preliminaries. Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, looking at each other with great satisfaction. Vila revelled in the open affection and warmth in Avon's eyes, only ever fleetingly seen in the past, and Avon basked in Vila's devotion and obvious delight.

"Suppose we'd better get the luggage in," Vila said at last.

"It will be perfectly safe." Avon traced his finger lightly down Vila's forehead and nose to his mouth. "I rather think all the criminals in the area are in this room." His finger travelled over Vila's lower lip and chin, down his chest, then gently around a nipple.

Vila's eyes closed in pleasure. "Afterplay."

"Not at all," Avon said.

"Oh." Vila opened his eyes. "Well, in that case—" he firmly rolled Avon onto his back "—my turn, I think." He kissed Avon, stroking his hair with one hand while the other went lower. The motion of his tongue in Avon's mouth and his fingers equally deep elsewhere were perfectly synchronised, lifting Avon to almost unbearable heights of sensation.

"Vila!" he gasped at last, "Get on with it!"

Vila did, with an expertise that astonished Avon, and a mixture of passion and tenderness which moved him more than he thought possible. Afterwards, Avon wrapped Vila tightly to himself, wanting to possess him completely, wanting never to let him go again. Vila had only ever boasted about his cleverness with locks and in bed, and he was right on both counts.

"Well now," he said softly, "I wasn't sure you'd ever get round to that."

"I wasn't either," Vila said against his chest. "Didn't want you to compare me to anyone else."

"Oh, I won't and I couldn't."

Vila pulled back and looked doubtful.

"You are incomparable." Avon smiled at him.

Vila was unreassured.

"I would not exchange you for anyone in the galaxy. There. Is that unequivocal enough for you?"

Vila's face lit up with pure happiness.

 

Vila, wearing a very brief and bright yellow swimsuit, lay in the late morning sun by the pool, enjoying the heat with a sleepy pleasure that Avon had referred to as mindlessly reptilian. After a week, he was tanned a rich golden brown, almost the equal of Avon's artificial tan which had faded from chocolate to café au lait. Avon, who did not have Vila's aversion to the cold or his matching attraction to roasting himself, preferred to sit on a deckchair in the shade, dressed more modestly in a towelling robe.

Vila had given up trying to get Avon into the water with him. Pity, it had possibilities. He considered going inside to get another cool drink to sip at while floating on the inflatable pool recliner, but yawned and decided to stay where he was. He smiled contentedly. This was the life.

"Avon?"

"Mm?"

"Why don't we stay here?"

"You'd get bored."

Vila rolled onto his side to look at Avon. "Well, I didn't mean right here. I meant this planet in general. We could change our looks permanently so no-one would recognise us."

"And risk having whichever surgeon we used betraying us as Reiffer did?"

"We wouldn't need a surgeon. Just different hair colours and styles and some skin pills for you. Maybe even for both of us." Vila sat up, grinning. "We could have exotic names to match. Ashok and Vijay."

"Vila. Think. The first time one of us called the other by his real name, the game would be up."

"Oh. Right." Vila shrugged and lay back down.

"You weren't that serious, surely. Winning," Avon said, "is the only safety."

"That sounds dangerous. As per usual." Vila looked mournful but resigned. "If we have to fight though," he went on, brightening up, "we'll need Blake."

"Why?"

"People know his name. They'll rally to him. Deltas on Earth will, and others will too, we saw that."

"Vila. We have looked for Blake before and we have not found him."

"Haven't looked properly though."

"Define 'properly'."

"Well, we just followed rumours. We ought to ask people who might know. Avalon, Cauder, that guy Grant you knew once, Blake's old uncle, people like that. Sarkoff's another, and that lot on Destiny. Follow up some real leads."

Avon looked at him thoughtfully. "Not a bad idea," he said grudgingly. "You are learning to use your brain." He smiled and patted the deckchair beside his. "Come here. It won't be much use to you though if you cook it in that sun, you fool."

 

After lunch and another swim (despite Avon's warnings of the dangers of cramp so soon after eating) Vila was sprawled bonelessly in the chair beside Avon, who was reading a bookpad, another boring software manual no doubt. He drifted into a pleasant fantasy of him and Avon living on a nice safe planet like Gardinos with Cally next door and Blake and Jenna visiting. Maybe even Dayna and Tarrant would drop by now and then, they'd be fun in nice small doses. He had almost dozed off when the subspace communicator chimed. He sat up, worried. Either the crew was in trouble or they were coming to get him and Avon, and either way that was bad news.

Avon thumbed the communicator on. "Avon here."

"It's Cally. I'm on Auron. My sister called for my help. There is plague here, and it is spreading fast."

Vila sat up. "Are you all right, Cally?"

Avon shushed him. "Go on, Cally."

"It turns out that Servalan has started the plague to blackmail us into cloning offspring for her. Avon, it does not look good. I am staying here, but I may have to send Dayna and Tarrant away without me. I cannot risk them too."

"Cally, listen. Get Orac to find an antidote."

"Servalan has one on her ship, but yes, Avon, I will do that."

"Wait!" Vila leaned across Avon and grabbed the communicator. "Give Servalan a flea in her ear!"

Exasperated, Avon pushed him away.

"No, really. Remember how you yelled at me in my head after I got drunk at Space City? Imagine how bad it would be if lots of people did that to Servalan all at once."

Avon raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "It's worth a try, Cally."

"Very well," Cally said doubtfully. "I will get Zelda and the other staff to add their thoughts to mine."

"Good luck," Vila called.

"Thank you. Goodbye."

Vila looked at Avon miserably. She had sounded very final.

Avon sighed. "There's no point in worrying, Vila. There's nothing you can do."

"That's easy for you to say. I can't help it." He huddled down in his chair, and Avon silently put an arm across his shoulders.

 

It was more than an hour before Cally called again.

"Avon."

"Yes, Cally."

"It worked. Vila's idea worked."

"Are you all right?" Vila said. "'Cause you don't sound it."

"Yes, Vila. I am fine, and so are the Auronar now. But Servalan is not. We killed her."

"What's wrong with that? She was killing you."

Avon pulled the communicator away from Vila. "What happened, Cally?"

"We miscalculated. There were too many of us. The power of our combined thoughts was too much for her brain. It...would not have been pleasant."

Vila went pale.

"We went more slowly with her crew, adding one person at a time until they gave in and let us have the antidote. It did not take much. Servalan's example was more than enough for them. I doubt if the Federation will bother us again."

"That's good news, Cally. Well done. We'll see you in a week or so." Avon turned to Vila. "What are you looking like that for? Surely you don't feel sorry for Servalan."

"It was my idea, and that's a horrible death. Even for her."

"Is there a good way to go?"

"Well, yeah, I can think of a few." Vila grinned shakily. "Need a drink. I'll get one for both of us. Come to think of it, we could make it a celebration."

"She may well be replaced by someone worse, you know."

Vila pulled a face at him. "No harm in hoping, is there?"

Avon watched Vila walk towards the house. For such a lazy person, he was really extraordinarily lithe, and now Avon thought about it, his habitual don't-notice-me stoop no longer seemed as obvious. The implications of that pleased him. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

How things had changed recently. Here he was with Vila and his imaginings of what that would be like had been really quite inadequate. If that bomb in Vila's chest had not changed everything, he hated to think what would have happened. He suspected he would have gone on isolating himself more and more, unable to express his feelings for Vila until they mutated into bitterness, resentment, and coldness until even the warmth of Vila's unassuming friendship could no longer thaw him.

"Got us a nice red," Vila interrupted his thoughts.

It was undoubtedly true; Vila had turned out to be a very good judge of the wine in the owner's locked cellar. Avon yawned and sat up, then stared in amazement.

"Just what are you wearing, Vila?"

"The breeze was getting a bit chilly, so I put some clothes on."

"That hardly answers my question."

Vila, resplendent in tight white trousers and a turquoise shirt gaudily decorated with palm trees and cocktail glasses, grinned and twirled around. "Guess what I am."

"Well, now. A thief with extremely poor sartorial taste."

Vila pretended to look hurt. "No."

"A fool with surprisingly shapely legs."

"Oh, are they?" Disconcerted, Vila looked down at them as if he'd never seen them before. "No, that's not it either."

Avon's lips twitched. "Let's see then. Knowing your predilection for horrible puns, then you must be a...holiday Vila."

Vila laughed delightedly. "You got it!"

"Indeed I have. Come here. Sit down." Avon shook his head and grasped Vila's elbow to stop him sitting in the deckchair next to him. "Not there, Vila. Here. And lose those ridiculous pants first."

Vila looked at where Avon's robe had fallen open. "Oh!" Grinning, he peeled his trousers off and bestrode Avon.

Avon, who now considered himself a connoisseur of Vila-expressions, watched him attentively as he lowered himself. He savoured the change from mischief through thoughtfulness and still-surprised pleasure to tenderness. Wanting to keep that last moment as long as possible, he slid his hands under Vila's absurd shirt to his waist and held him still.

"Remember those tight black leather trousers you wore on Fosforon?" he teased. "And those knee-high boots?"

Vila did, and looked embarrassed. "That planet was covered in cloud. Thought it might be swampy."

"You were incredibly distracting. I could hardly bear to look at you."

"I noticed. Thought you were annoyed with me the whole time." Vila put his head on one side, smiling reminiscently. "So that's why you shoved that revolting shiny brown cape-thingy at me."

"Which you promptly removed." Avon gently ran his fingers up Vila's spine. "You never wore those trousers again."

"Scared they might be infected with plague."

Avon raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you wore the tunic. Several times."

He wouldn't be surprised if Vila had got rid of the trousers. He remembered him looking white-faced and ill after the Fosforon mission, upset by Dr Bellfriar's death, and that of the man he had seen dying down there. In an attempt to distract him, Avon had said that he could only assume that Vila had reversed his unreasonable objection to disporting himself with half of the human race, or he would not have dressed so provocatively. Vila's eyes had widened in horror, and he'd rushed off to change. For a while, Avon had entertained the faint hope that he might see the garment in question again.

"Well...I might still have them," Vila said cautiously.

"Might you now."

"Just in case I had to go to a damp planet." Vila looked innocent, quite a feat considering his position.

Avon laughed. "I actually believe you."

"Well, it's true. Didn't know then what I know now." Sadness passed briefly over his face.

Avon was unsure whether it was for the abuse he had suffered in the past, or for the pleasure he had missed. He lifted a hand and gently pushed a lock of Vila's hair back from his forehead.

Vila leaned his head against Avon's hand. "That Tynus," he said thoughtfully, "the way he looked at you. Anything between you?"

"Just a plan that went wrong, Vila. But yes, he did want more, which provided me with a useful hold on him. With some people, a possibility deferred can be more powerful than actuality."

"Ah."

"In your case however, it is quite the reverse."

"Really?" Vila smiled with shy pride. "Tell you what, I'll look those trousers out when we get back to the  _Liberator_. And the boots. I'll wear them as often as you like." He wriggled experimentally.

Avon gritted his teeth for more reasons than one. "Not on the flight deck, you won't."

Vila's smile widened. "All right, just in the privacy of our own cabin." He began to move slowly up and down. "Or not, as the case may be."

 

In the evening, Avon liked to watch the news before dinner while Vila, who regarded it as depressing, frightening or both, curled up on the couch on the other side of the room and read a book. Avon had told him he couldn't bury his head in the sand, to which Vila had said that yes he could, thank you very much, and was happier for it. Oddly enough, he knew more about current events than Avon would have thought; perhaps he absorbed information subconsciously.

He looked down at Vila's head on his arm and ruffled his hair. "Computer," he said—it had no name or a programmed personality—"Select news."

"Proceeding. Headlines displayed."

Vila sat up, glaring. "Wrist-slitting time again?" he grumbled.

Avon frowned at the text scrolling up the vidscreen. "Select 'Coup'."

"Coup?" Vila, half-way off the couch, sat down again. "You mean a coop deetat?" he asked, deliberately mispronouncing it. "Where?"

"Earth," Avon said tersely. "Shut up."

Vila subsided but remained poised for flight in case anything too graphically violent was shown.

"Only a month after the recent short-lived uprising on Earth, capital of the Federation, there has been an attempted coup in the wake of President Servalan's death three days ago." The viscast announcer stood outside the new Presidential palace, her attractive face wearing the traditional reporter's frown. "A group of rebels attacked the palace, entering the perimeter right where I am standing, while most of the government were in attendance at President Servalan's lying in state."

"Bet she was dressed to kill," Vila said, "or I should say die."

"In the ensuing action, several members of the High Council lost their lives—".

"Careless of them."

"Vila!"

"—although the ringleaders of the rebels were captured and executed, some did manage to get away and are being pursued. There is considerable unrest in the domes, and troops are being deployed to ensure public safety. In breaking news, the identity of those executed has just been released."

"Oh, no." Vila winced. "Not Blake!"

"The role of Councillor Chesku, whose body was found outside, shot in the back with a personal weapon, is uncertain, but under interrogation, the captured rebels revealed that his wife Sula both led the attack and was intended to head the new government."

The picture of a self-contained looking woman with light brown hair appeared on the screen. Avon stared at it in shock, feeling as if time had stopped, half-aware of a pain in his chest and a rushing sound in his head. "Anna..."

"She was the first to be executed..."

"Anna."

"What is it, Avon? What's wrong?"

Vaguely aware that Vila was shaking him, Avon pushed him away.

"...and for further related topics, please select 'execution footage', 'heroes of the Federation Grenlee and Forres', or 'new curfew hours'..."

"Avon, tell me what's wrong."

Anna's face had disappeared from the screen, but Avon remained staring at it as the headlines began to scroll again.

"Avon?"

"Go away, Vila. This has absolutely nothing to do with you."

"No." Vila sounded uncharacteristically determined. "And it does."

Avon finally turned to look at him. "You know nothing about it. Leave me alone."

"Sod that, Avon. Maybe I don't know what's going on, but it has everything to do with me."

"It does not. I will not tell you again—"

Vila held his shoulders in a surprisingly firm grasp. "Avon. You're important to me, and what affects you affects me. I love you, you bastard."

Avon shook him off, keeping his eyes on the screen. "Go away."

Vila's face went white and still. Silently, he turned and left.

Ignoring him, Avon demanded that the computer display all items connected with Chesku and his wife.

 

Vila closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Stupid thing to say. What was he going to do now? Slowly, he picked up the flyer keys which lay on the hall table.

 

Avon shut off the viscast screen and sat back, exhausted. Anna, oh and it was Anna, had married Chesku well before Avon had met her. Married—not just the common bonding ceremony, but that legal partnership of the very rich and powerful which allied family, political and business interests—and gave her another name altogether. She had led another life, one he and even her brother had known nothing of. The story of her death had been, well, slightly exaggerated.

He remembered her sly knowing smile, the way she would look at him in that considering appraising way, and the games she liked to play. "Trust me, love? You know nothing about me. I could be anyone." And he'd smile and play along, fascinated and amused by her secretiveness and mystery.

Who had she really been? He found he had no idea. Vila on the other hand, Vila had pretended to be less intelligent and capable than he was, but never to be anyone else. He had always been most demonstrably Vila.

Vila? Avon sat up. Where was he? Avon could vaguely recall pushing him away while he was saying something. Something very important.

Oh, no.

"Vila?" He opened the door, calling again. "Vila!" He looked around, wondering where he was, and his eye was caught by the empty hall table. The keys to the flyer had gone. Heart pounding, he ran outside and into the dark, his throat too tight to call out again.

The bulk of the flyer loomed in front of him. Suddenly weak, Avon leaned against it for a moment, then went back to the house.

He opened the door and called again.

"Here I am." Vila appeared in the hallway, holding a bottle.

"Vila," Avon said huskily. "I thought... you took the keys."

"Only so you wouldn't do anything stupid." Vila looked worried. "You weren't going to, were you?"

"Of course not." Relief flooded Avon and brought irrational anger. "If you strain your limited mental faculties, you might recall that I promised I would not leave you. I happen to keep my word."

"So do I. And you thought the same of me." The indignation faded from Vila's face to be replaced by concern. "You look terrible." He took Avon's hand. "Look, you had a shock. People do silly things when that happens, that's why I took the keys. I only went to the cellar to get some brandy. Come and sit down and have some, make you feel better." Vila put an arm around him. "You're shaking." He steered him back to the couch and sat him down, then quickly filled two glasses. He gave one to Avon, wrapping his unresponsive fingers round it. "Come on, have a drink."

Avon looked down at the glass, unmoving until Vila sighed and took it away.

"Look, you don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to, but it might make you feel better. You never know." He slid his arm around Avon and pulled him close.

Avon closed his eyes, comforted by the warmth. "I did hear what you said, Vila. Before."

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. I wasn't listening, but I did hear you."

"People in pain don't notice much else."

"I'm sorry...if I hurt you."

"Only a bit. My fault anyway. It was a stupid time to say it. I'll say it again now if you like."

Avon sat up and stared at him. He thought he knew all of Vila's many expressions, but he had never seen this one—strength, fierce protectiveness, and a sure gentleness. "Vila," he said. Vila's arms went around him again, and Avon leaned forward and buried his head in Vila's chest, knowing for the first time in his life that he was home.

 

"You don't know she betrayed you."

It was now dark, and Avon still lay encircled in the comfort and safety of Vila's arms. The initial pain had lessened, soothed away by Vila's concern and caresses, and the emotional exhaustion he felt was almost pleasant.

"Don't I?"

"Course not. You know what they did to Blake. Maybe they gave her a whole new personality and memories. Look, even her own brother thought she was dead."

There was comfort in that, and also pain. Was it worse to think that Anna's time with him had been erased as if it had never happened?

"Or," Vila went on, "she escaped, went to ground, bought a whole new identity. Happens more than you might think. If she was still wanted, she wouldn't want to endanger you or her family, would she?"

He could feel Vila's hand stroking his back. "In that case, she would hardly marry a member of the high council."

"All right then," Vila said equably. "She was a rebel all along."

There was a gentle pressure against the top of his head, either Vila's cheek or his lips. Avon pressed closer, and sighed as Vila's arms tightened in response.

"A mole in the high-ups," Vila continued, "in such deep cover she couldn't tell you or her brother."

Avon smiled. All plausible, and perhaps even likely. He remembered Anna's detachment and her faint amusement as if at a private joke. She had been playing some game, but he doubted if he would ever know what it was. "My Vila," he murmured, wishing he could say the other words in his head. My love, my life.

As if Vila had heard him, he lifted Avon's face to his and kissed him gently on his forehead. "Said I'd look after you, didn't I? You didn't believe me, but I meant it."

"I never doubted you."

"Yes, you did."

"No. Not since you said it."

 

"You're not packing that appalling shirt, are you?"

"Why not? I've got good memories of it."

"Oh?"

Vila stole a sideways look at Avon. "You forgotten?" Elaborately casual, he folded the offending shirt and placed it carefully in his suitcase with the form-fitting white trousers.

"Remind me."

Vila abandoned his packing and steered Avon to a chair, and pushed him down onto it. "You were outside." He undid Avon's trousers, then his own. "You were on a deckchair." He knew Avon well enough now to recognise the look of amusement and affection. "And I was on you."

"Vila. Cally will be here soon."

"Another half an hour at least. Plenty of time."

"You'll be the death of me, Vila."

"Then you'll die happy."

Avon, who had never before considered it a possibility, rather hoped it might be true.

 

"Congratulations," Cally said, smiling. Even if she had not detected Vila's pleasure as the  _Liberator_  approached Neuwelt, she would guessed from the smugness on Vila's face and the satisfaction on Avon's.

Vila grinned delightedly and linked his arm with Avon's.

Avon glared at him, or at least Cally thought it was a fairly creditable attempt. "Do you have to make it so obvious, you fool?"

"Easier than making an announcement," Vila said.

"I am very happy for both of you," Cally said, and knew she had not imagined the answering warmth in Avon's eyes. "Dayna, bring us up." She was interested to note that Avon did not pull away from Vila as they dematerialised.

Dayna, however, stared at them speechlessly when they appeared in the teleport bay.

"Aren't you glad to see us?" Vila asked. "Thought you might've missed us."

"Ah, Dayna," Avon said coolly. "We'll join you all on the flight deck as soon as we've put our things in our cabin."

Dayna's eyes widened even further at the singular noun and went from them to Cally in mute question.

"It took them long enough," Cally said blandly, following them out.

 

**Three months later**

After following up on several leads, they thought they had finally tracked Blake down. Avalon had heard that Cauder knew someone who had seen Del Grant during an uprising in Outer Gaul, and he had mentioned Blake was raising an army somewhere. They had been to Albian and spoken with Cauder, then had finally tracked down his contact on Grenwie, and he said the last he had heard, Grant was on Helotrix.

He was. Avon had gone down to see him alone, and Cally had left Vila on the teleport trying to pretend he was not worried.

She looked up as they both entered the flight deck. "How did it go?"

"Frustratingly," Avon said, at the same time as Vila said, "Very well." The two paused and looked at each other.

"It did go well," Vila said. "You said you and Grant talked about—"

"My personal life is of no concern to anyone else, Vila." Avon said coldly, the affect rather spoiled by the arm he had around Vila's waist.

"Well, you did find out something about Blake."

"Yes. That is what was frustrating."

"I thought it was funny."

"You would. I daresay you're used to running around in circles."

Cally watched them, amused as Avon sat down at his station, and Vila stood beside him, his hand resting on Avon's shoulder. To listen to them, they sounded much the same as they always had, but Avon was much more relaxed these days, and Vila had gained so much confidence that Tarrant and Dayna, though they still teased him, now saw him as an equal. It pleased Cally to watch how Avon's face would always soften into unspoken affection whenever he looked at Vila, and how Vila no longer looked lost and alone when he thought no-one was looking.

"What did you hear, Avon?" she asked.

"Blake is forming an army of criminals—"

"Like us!" Vila said gleefully. "The man always did have impeccable taste."

"—on an open planet." Avon finished, giving Vila an exasperated look.

"There aren't that many of those," Tarrant said. "We can check them one by one."

Vila shuddered. "No we can't. D'you know what those places are like? No law at all."

"I'd have thought you'd like that," Dayna said, amused.

Vila frowned at her. "Not me. You might though. Anything goes there. Violent nasty places where you could get killed for a loaf of bread."

Avon sighed. "We will not be scouring the surface of each one in turn. We can narrow it down. Jenna is working with Blake, smuggling arms to his base."

"And Jenna," Vila said triumphantly, "deals with Avalon. And that's right back where we started."

Avon glared at him.

"Well, I think it's funny."

"We have wasted months. And we are not going back to Camelot base to wait for Jenna to turn up. That could be a very long time. Orac can track her movements."

"But she's a smuggler. She won't publish a voyage schedule."

"She will however call at different spaceports to unload the cargo she uses as a cover, and doubtless to turn a profit with. I should imagine that open planets might be rather lucrative for someone in her line. We find a ship that goes anywhere near Camelot base regularly, and calls at any open planets, and it's likely to be Jenna."

"Oh. And Orac can predict where she might be next so we can find her."

"Well now." Avon raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Vila is using his brain, however minimally." One hand came up to cover Vila's on his shoulder, quite unconsciously.

Cally smiled fondly at them.

She wondered if they knew there was a third participant in their love-making.

She had always been able to pick up strong emotions and sensations from Vila, she was not sure why. His mental wavelength was closer to the Auronar than any other human she had met, either through sheer coincidence, or perhaps because the Delta grades had more genetic variance in their makeup. In the past she had occasionally detected brief bursts of physical pleasure from him, usually followed by loneliness and longing. The first few times she had curiously checked with Zen to see who was in his cabin with him, but he had always been alone.

Like all the Auronar, she had always regarded sex with non-telepaths as obscene, a disgusting perversion, akin to coupling with someone who was blind, deaf and numb. Vila had been the only possibility, but even though she would be able to detect his pleasure, and she could send him hers, it would still be a pale copy of the real thing, and unfair to Vila, who would also detect her frustration and disappointment. He had deserved more. They both had.

And now they had it.

These days, Cally always tried to be alone when Avon and Vila were together. She would lie in her cabin, waiting for the first delighted frisson of anticipation from Vila, then give herself up to the slow arousal, the passion, the tenderness, the consuming love, the almost disbelieving ecstasy, and at last she would rise with Vila on wings of joy.

 

**One month later**

Blake sat at his desk, gloomily going through the depressingly short list of recruits he had found for the cause and sent on to Avalon with Jenna. He had hoped to find more of the calibre of Avon, Gan, Jenna, and Vila, but most of those he had captured in his bounty-hunter persona were vicious and violent brutes whom he was glad to turn over to the authorities. He sighed and put his head in his hands.

Even through his fingers, he saw the flash of light. What was that, some sort of power fluctuation? He took his hands away and stared at the two men standing in front of him.

Avon looked back, any reaction at Blake's appearance limited to a raised eyebrow. "Hello, Blake," he said coolly. "Surprised to see us?"

Vila, however, looked shocked, then worried. "What happened to you?" he asked, taking a sympathetic step forwards.

For a moment, Blake was unable to speak. He looked from one to the other, then finally said, "How did you find me?"

"Jenna told us," Vila said. "Didn't you want us to?" His face crumpled into that hurt-puppy look Blake remembered so well. "You didn't, did you?"

"Vila...Avon." Blake rose to his feet, aware of how much he had let himself go, overweight, unkempt, unshaven, and something in him not even wanting to have the scar across his eye fixed though Deva had often told him he should. He sighed. "No, I didn't. After the war, I saw first-hand what the destruction of Star One had done. The breakdown of civilised society, starvation, violence, anarchy..." He looked away. "All my fault."

"No it wasn't," Vila said. "You didn't do it. The Andromedans did."

"But I would have," Blake said quietly. "I saw what I'd been prepared to do, and the price was too high."

"So you decided to wallow in self-pity and guilt rather than try to redress the damage?" Avon drawled. "We are possibly wasting our time, Vila."

"No," Vila said firmly, startling Blake but not, he saw, Avon. "We need Blake. People believe in him, not us."

Avon smiled faintly. "This was Vila's idea," he said to Blake. "He says the Deltas will follow you. He feels revolutions come from below."

"They do, look at history. Besides," Vila said, grinning, "Delta is the mathematical symbol of change."

Blake stared at him.

"Vila has at last dropped his pretence of stupidity," Avon said.

"And Avon's stopped pretending he believed it."

They exchanged what Blake could only describe as an affectionate look. Surely he had imagined that. He cleared his throat. "I hardly think I will be an asset."

"Why?" Vila said. "No-one knows about Star One. We're all heroes for holding off the Andromedans till the fleet got there. Not even Federation propaganda could change that."

"There is still the matter of those false charges."

"No-one in the Delta grades'd believe that. They do it to us all the time. How d'you think they caught a good thief like me? Planted evidence, that's how. Standard practice."

Blake shook his head. They were asking too much.

"We need you," Avon said, "even if just as a figurehead. Your reputation will be invaluable."

"So you're a rebel now, Avon?" Part of him realised he sounded as cynical as Avon always had.

"Only as a means to an end. Vila and I wish to spend our lives in peace and prosperity rather than being chased around the galaxy. I rather think the rest of the crew concurs."

"We can't change anything. We tried and we failed. This—" Blake gestured about him, "—I can do. This is manageable."

Avon leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "We can always drop you off at a nice little castle, you know. You can amuse yourself with the twentieth century artefacts, and play the great has-been in exile."

Blake felt the blood rush to his face as he remembered Sarkoff—Ex-President Sarkoff, as he'd been at pains to call himself, preferring the safety of defeat and his private collection of bizarre antiques to the challenge of returning to power. Blake had despised him for his inertia. "You're right," he said heavily.

Vila came round the desk and handed him a teleport bracelet, then impulsively flung his arms around him. Blake stiffened at first, then hugged him back, surprised and rather moved. He looked over Vila's shoulder at Avon who, with one of his rare and dazzling smiles, was raising his bracelet to his mouth.

"Wait," Blake said, "I have some good people here I'd like to bring with me."

"No problem." Vila stepped back. "Jenna told us about them." With an over-acted furtive look to each side, he opened his loose jacket to show its inner pockets, each containing a teleport bracelet. He looked so much like a cartoon petty thief purveying stolen watches, that, remembering their first encounter, Blake found himself smiling.

 

"Blake!" Cally rushed joyfully towards him from the behind the controls, and grasped his arms. "Oh, it is good to see you."

"You too, Cally." Blake had the odd feeling he was home. The others milled around them as they got themselves and their bags off the teleport bay.

"We need you." Cally's eyes glowed with pleasure and fervour.

"I feel much the same way." He had not thought that any of them would welcome him back after his increasingly obsessive drive to destroy Central Control, costing Gan's life, his own sense of perspective, and, he had thought, Avon's friendship. He blinked and cleared his throat, and everyone immediately became very busy. He could hear Avon giving orders to the flight deck, and Vila happily welcoming the new people.

"Tarrant, take us out, standard by ten. Dayna, force walls up again until we're clear."

"Come on, you lot, I'll show you your cabins. Dev, isn't it?"

"Deva."

"And I'm Klyn. With a 'Y'."

"And why not? I'm Vila with just one 'L', and bit of a thirst, actually. A&S anyone? Or perhaps a nice drop of red?"

Damn but it was good to be back.

 

**Two months later**

They were on their way to Earth with a fleet, one flank led by Jenna Stannis in her ship, and the other by Del Tarrant on the  _Liberator_ , both brilliant pilots with experience of command and space tactics. They made an excellent combination with Tarrant's knowledge of the Space Fleet mind-set and Jenna's more unorthodox background.

The Delta grades and bond slaves had risen throughout the Federated worlds, as had many of the Space Fleet rank and file—who made up a large part of the rebel fleet—after Avon and Orac had hacked into the Federation viscasts with a series of exhortations aimed at the lower grades. Vila had been Blake's advisor for these, explaining to him just what life was like for almost half of the Federation's citizens, and what they wanted—not just a better system, but respect and self-determination.

Blake sat on the flight couch with his arms spread along the back, his attention half on Zen's screen where a news viscast was playing, and half on the crew. Tarrant and Cally were at their positions, Klyn was monitoring communications with the other ships, Deva and Avon were working on an artificial Sopron to be installed on each rebel ship, and Vila sat with them to hand Avon his tools.

Blake had at first been amused at his obvious devotion to Avon, then startled to find that Avon's feelings for Vila were just as strong. Even as he watched, he smiled to see that Avon's hand sometimes lingered quite a bit longer than necessary on Vila's as he took each proffered tool.

"They've taken London Dome, Blake," Cally said.

"Home sweet dome!" Vila said brightly.

Avon did not bother to look up from his work. "Well, well. Vila's idea works."

"Idea?" Vila acted indignant. "Is that all you can call it? It was a finely-honed plan of surpassing brilliance, I'll have you know. And it's better than one of your gadgets. Keep breaking down, they do. Or is it planned obsolescence to keep you in a job?"

Avon did look up at that. "Both of us, Vila. We're partners, remember?" He patted Vila's cheek.

Vila grinned. "Restal and Avon Unlimited."

"Alphabetic order is customary."

"Nah, sounds a bit staid anyway, like a firm of lawyers or accountants. How about AviCo?"

Avon looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled, no longer a rare occurrence. "Acceptable."

"Our motto could be 'Computers or safes, nothing's safe from us'."

Blake sincerely hoped the new economy would be.

 

**One year later**

Avon and Vila sat on the beach outside their house on Gardinos, looking out over the lake. Vila had been determined to buy the house of his dreams on the planet of his dreams, and Avon had been happy to indulge him. In fact, he had to admit it was remarkably pleasant sitting here in the warm night air with Vila leaning against him.

They had after all worked hard enough to earn this peace, helping to set up the new banking and trading systems, breaking into the Federation's most secret data to expose the worst of their corruption. Those who had thought Vila was either a Delta pet or Avon's 'bit of rough' soon were disabused of those ideas when they saw the two of them working together. In fact, Avon had become used to giving Vila some of the more arcane puzzles and codes to crack; it was only when his quicksilver mind was bored that he would wander off to cause trouble.

"Three moons tonight," Vila said.

"As talented as ever at stating the obvious," Avon said automatically, lovingly tousling his hair. "It is not that uncommon."

"It is if they're all full," Vila said. "And before you start, I do know about how they have to be lined up to reflect the sun and all that. And I don't care. It's beautiful."

Yes, it was. The light was bright enough to show the blues and purples of the lake, and the golden night-blossoms under the trees.

"Used to dream of this." Vila snuggled closer.

"I remember." Avon smiled to himself. He had bought some very brief briefs of red fur which he was keeping until Vila's birthday, when he would wear them to serve him drinks by the lake. The look on Vila's face would be well worth the indignity.

"Swimming by the light of three moons, that's what I always wanted, you know."

Ah. Here it comes. Vila had often talked about children, and Avon remembered very well that time he had spoken of swimming with them, back when they were planning to hijack the kairopan harvest. He said nothing, though he could see out of the corner of his eye that Vila was looking at him. Damn. He stared straight ahead. He had to admit that Vila would make a good father, or perhaps more accurately, playmate, but he did not want to share him with anyone.

"Avon?"

No, Vila. Not yet. Give me a few years with you to myself.

Vila nibbled his ear.

Avon closed his eyes. If it came down to it perhaps a clone of either of them would be acceptable. Not the fully programmed artificially-matured copies the Clone Masters had specialised in, but the ordinary vat-grown babies cloned from their parent that busy, infertile, or same-sex couples often had. He supposed that might not be so bad—an Avon who grew up loved, and a Vila who grew up secure. Although both the originals were not doing so badly.

"Avon? Swim with me?"

Avon let out a breath he had not been aware of holding. "Ah, that's what you want. I thought..."

"What?"

"You talked about children once. More than once."

"Oh." Vila moved to kneel in front of him. "Thought you knew you were enough," he said softly. "It was all I could think of then, but it isn't now. See, I always wanted...wanted someone to love me, and I could never really imagine it, couldn't see her. Well, it was a 'her' then. Seemed too much to ask for, but I always thought, well, I thought if I had children, they'd have to love me, wouldn't they?" He took Avon's hands in his. "But then you did."

"Yes," Avon said simply.

"And I'd like to swim with the person I love under three moons, just like I used to imagine. Look, I know it's a bit silly—"

"No." Avon pulled him close and kissed him. "But I do not care for the water, Vila."

"I know." Vila stood up and pulled Avon to his feet. "But I could teach you to if you let me." He slid his arms around Avon's waist. "Won't take you out of your depth and I won't let you go. We'll take it as slow as you like and if you want me to stop, just say so." He ducked his head and gave Avon a quizzical smile.

Remembering the words he had said to Vila their first time together, Avon smiled back. "Ah, Vila," he whispered.

"Come on." Vila took his hand. "You're safe with me."

"I know."

And Avon willingly followed Vila into the warm water.

**The end**


End file.
